


Where Did I Lose You?

by ScarletDrizzle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff and Angst, I'm sorry I lied it's actually kinda slow burn now, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychosis, Slow Burn, also prepare for a lot of feelings, and I try to handle it delicately, and broken characters, and emotional baggage, btw I know very little about how fbi or gangs work, everyone's a fucking mess, probably a lot of other people too, so just go with me on this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2018-11-15 00:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11219760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletDrizzle/pseuds/ScarletDrizzle
Summary: Clark Griffin’s FBI career is all but in shambles, and her life is not far behind. As she finds herself assigned to a barebones FBI department in the troublesome, violent city of Arkadia, unofficially declared a lost cause, she soon learns to sleep with a gun in close range. She can only hope that one of Arkadia’s rival gangs aren't what ends up being at the end of it.The last thing Clarke expects in this harsh, violent world is to run into a lover she left years ago – a lover she hasn’t spent a day without missing since. But it becomes quite clear that Lexa Woods…isn’t quite Lexa Woods anymore.Clarke struggles to understand more about the stranger that now occupies the body of the woman that was once her entire world, and she isn’t sure how eager she is to find out. As her reunited lover starts to make more appearances, soon getting alarmingly entangled into her professional life, Clarke decides that she is definitely not too eager after all.Life, it seems, has other plans.ORThe one where Lexa and Clarke endure years of their own personal hells, only to reunite on opposite sides of a dangerous world of violence, sex, and betrayal. And possibly on the same side of a candle-lit bed...





	1. Perfectly Even Crusts.

Clarke still remembered her eyes more clearly than she would like to admit.

Even after more than 7 years had passed since their separation, that mystical shade of bottle green was never far from her thoughts. It was perhaps part of the reason Clarke found herself still painting in her spare time. Still obsessing with elaborate forests or sea-green tides. Still chasing that elusive shade that had once been her entire world.

Occasionally she would just give up on masking her dangerous infatuation, settling on just painting the expressive eyes that haunted her, or the woman they belonged to. Of course, she had eventually been compelled to stop that practice about a year ago, when Finn had managed to somehow stumble his way onto some of the more passionate renditions stowed away in her studio. Clarke had known then, after wasting more than enough money and time on both personal and marriage therapists, that she did _not_ want to open that door again, Finn or no Finn.

But now, as the left half of her bed remained cold at nights, she occasionally found herself once again itching to splurge her meager pay on a couple of canvases, and a superfluous number of shades of green. To once again caress the plain empty white with streaks of that lovely color…

Right that second, however, as the sun continued to rise on her first day in Arkadia, and her heels impatiently tapped on the café floor, primary colors were just about the furthest thing from Clarke’s mind. No. For once, Clarke Griffin had something a more urgent to worry about than her more than a little unhealthy obsession with her ex’s eyes…

A blue gaze nervously flicked between her watch and the lengthy line she found herself in, conscious of every tick of the thinnest hand that brought her closer to being late for her first day. Clarke briefly contemplated the torturous thought of just skipping on her coffee for the day, already making the mental adjustments in her budget needed to replace the cheaper – and apparently ridiculously popular – Dropship café with the closest Starbucks, of which there were apparently just two in all of Arkadia. No wonder the place was packed…

The blonde sighed heavily as the window of punctuality shrank with every what-ever-the-fuck the people in front of her where ordering. She just wanted some honest to god coffee, for fuck’s sake. At this point she was only a few short minutes from just settling for some of the shit-tier coffee that usually populated the FBI offices, even if they made her breath smell and taste like ass for the rest of the day. She’d just have to settle for keeping her mouth shut.

Clarke focused her gaze intently on the lesbian couple that was currently making their order, hoping for the strength of her glare to be enough to simply will the line to part for her. But the anger in her eyes wavered the slightest after a few seconds, and the glare involuntarily began to morph into something resembling more of an appreciative stare. Blue eyes seemed to have a mind of their own as they drank in soft looking brown curls on the taller woman, lingering on the way they fell onto a slim back, and then settling briefly on a nicely shaped behind. As her gaze shamelessly followed the contours hugged by tight jeans, Clarke seemed to finally regain her cognitive abilities, turning away from the back of the stranger she had just been ogling, a light blush on her cheeks. Pearly teeth had at some point fastened themselves around her lower lip, as the blonde grew inexplicably and embarrassingly frazzled for a 29-year-old who had simply happened upon a nice ass among the many nice asses she had personal experience with.

Oh god, she had never quite realized how badly she needed to get laid by someone she was at least moderately attracted to…

She figured it had been years.

Clarke closed her eyes and groaned softly as the sound of light laughter met her ears, the tone somehow accompanied by the light bounce of brown curls in her head, even though the blonde had no reason to make such a correlation. And even less reason to feel the spike in her heart rate at the sound.

Ok, this was not good. The needle for unhealthiness had definitely inched its way clear past the previous scale of ‘more than a little’. Granted, Clarke had been unreasonably attracted to her fair share of brunettes in the past, a side-effect of the same infatuation that had led to the explosions of green in her art studio. But that was all a part of the ‘more than a little’. More than a little in the way that some kinks were more than a little. Or the way Clarke’s caffeine intake was arguably more than a little. Or maybe even the continued obsession of a married woman over an ex- she had left more than half a decade ago…

Yes, Clarke decided. Ass-tasting coffee would definitely have to do for today.

The gruff looking lawyer standing behind her raised a single brow at her as she attempted to escape the prison of the line she had wasted the last fifteen minutes in, and she offered only the bare minimum of politeness before making her way away from the nearby black hole of cute laughs and pretty hair. A distant, stubborn part of her mind, an unfortunate Griffin-branded gene she had no doubt inherited from her mother, lingered on some variation of the sunk cost fallacy, urging her to just hold on for another meager five minutes since she’d already wasted so much of her time and mental health already. To just stop letting someone who was no longer a part of her life control so much of it…

But a much louder, and annoyingly, alarmingly pleasant, reintroduction of that same laugh, this time coming from far closer than Clarke was comfortable with, was enough for finally get her mother’s genes to shut the hell up. Clarke was eager to test the speed with which her heels could carry her towards the door, feeling an aggravating mix of anger, embarrassment, and helplessness at her traitorous heart for forcing her this far.

And feeling desperately, intensely broken.

* * *

Lexa Woods wore an expression of the utmost focus as she carefully and precisely cut off the crusts on a slice of white bread, taking care to compare the slice to the one that already occupied a nearby plate before she decided on its fate. After a careful once-over, emerald eyes were finally satisfied that the two halves would come together to make a suitable PB&J, and the brunette started on the second step of the process with as much focus as the first. Slim fingers worked to layer even amounts of the two ingredients on either halves of the sandwich, taking care to maintain the proper proportion of peanut-butter-to-jelly that Aden liked.

A small, rare smile crept its way onto full lips as she took in the result of her handiwork with a satisfied glimmer in her eyes, taking care to wrap the morsel up and carefully tuck it away in Aden’s lunchbox. She hesitated a short second before stuffing an apple in there as well, knowing full well that the boy was well known for getting his lunch squished up in his backpack. Another second passed, and a banana joined the apple as well, just barely fitting into the squish-resistant banana guard.

…Just to be safe.

Lexa called out distractedly to the blonde boy that was probably sleepily yanking on his socks upstairs. Her eyes landed on the third slice that lay dejectedly on the counter, and after a moment of consideration, Lexa made to grab the lonely slice, having rejected it earlier for being a bit too lopsided for a good sandwich. The brunette set to hurriedly make one for herself, having only barely made a dent in her appetite earlier at the Dropship, not caring to take off the crusts on the other slice. She was on the verge of giving another holler when she heard the familiar thumping of descending steps, and smiled involuntarily at the soft yawn that met her ears from the drowsy blonde that had made himself comfortable at the dining table.

Lexa chuckled lightly at the sight of Aden just barely managing to keep his head upright at the table, the hand he had used to prop himself up occasionally slipping underneath him and bringing his face alarmingly close to being dunked into the bowl of cereal. She reached to grab her phone from the kitchen counter, half-heartedly scrolling through her messages to see if anything required her immediate attention. She more than hated this part of her occupation, the constant feeling of unease and restlessness that so often interrupted her early mornings with Aden, the need to constantly be on the up and up, not knowing when disaster would strike. But she supposed that was partly just how Arkadia was after all…

Aden lifted his head up in attention as he heard Lexa’s frustrated sigh, and his eyes dimmed the slightest when Lexa offered an apologetic smile, bringing her phone to her ear and making to sneak into the study for a quick call. The boy’s forced answering smile, an attempt to alleviate the guilt Lexa felt from bringing her work home more often than not, nearly made Lexa’s heart shatter in her chest when coupled by the hints of sadness in green eyes.

“Just a second, I promise.” She whispered, smiling more sincerely as he nodded in understanding, even if both of them knew the words were a lie. Lexa eyed the clock on her way to the study, judging how much time she had before Aden had to leave for school. “I got your message.” She murmured into the phone as the study door clicked shut behind her, all softness in her voice abandoned in place of an unwavering, steely tone, “This better be good, Ahn. You know I don’t appreciate having to call so early…”

“Believe me, it is.” The deep voice replied on the other end of the line, toneless even in the face of Lexa’s obvious displeasure, “Though I’d say it’s a bit more bad than good…” The brunette raised a thin brow at that, her jaw automatically clenching as she processed the many things that could have gone wrong in the span of the ten or so hours she had been away. Before she could ask any of the worries that rumbled in her chest, most of them involving Aden’s safety, Anya beat her to it. “Turns out we have a new badge in town…” She trailed off, hoping the other girl caught the message.

“Oh.” Was all Lexa could whisper, more than a little surprised at the revelation. This wasn’t _bad_ by any means, but she was the first to agree that it certainly wasn’t good. And it was even worse that she hadn’t been aware of any changes in the Federal presence in Arkadia... Being kept in the dark was far from Lexa’s favorite place to be. “Is it one of ours?” She asked, though part of her just about knew the answer already. After all, the odds of one of their FBI contacts moving to Ark without her knowledge were slim to none.

“Doesn’t look like it; the girl bleeds blue.” Anya confirmed, hints of disappointment apparent in her voice just as they were in Lexa’s sigh. Her lips tensed into a tight line, brows furrowed in thought. A new, unclaimed agent in the game had the potential to be good for them – could be ripe for claim with the right incentives. But a new agent would also probably mean a bidding war against Nia, and Lexa wasn’t sure how many lives she was willing to bet on securing another Fed on her payroll. “I'm guessing your girl didn’t tell you?” Anya suddenly questioned, breaking Lexa from her contemplation, an amused tilt present in her voice that did well to test Lexa’s temper. The brunette thought back to the meeting with “her girl” earlier that day, thought back to coffee and laughter and warmth. And not a single mention of a newcomer…

“No.” Lexa all but growled, not sure if the warning in her tone was directed to her friend on the line or to the girl who had neglected to keep her informed. Her blonde friend laughed lightly in the face of Lexa’s annoyance, making some mention of a “doghouse”, and someone being in it. “Anya.” Lexa growled again, the warning this time obviously directed at the cheeky friend who often forgot, or more likely ignored, her place in the pecking order.

Anya only chuckled again in answer, satisfied with having riled up the usually stoic Heda, and transitioned into a more serious tone. “She could be promising, though.” Anya allowed, and Lexa could just imagine the Machiavellian smile the blonde no doubt wore, “No contact yet. But doesn’t have the prettiest history…”

“Is that so?” The brunette questioned, her interest now piqued, and the anger she previously felt at being left out of the loop slowly dissipating. Anya was right, disgraced Agents were always the easiest to turn, and if they had another turncoat on their side...

“Seems to be a bit of a fucked story…” Anya continued, ruffling through what sounded to be some kind of papers, “Apparently the klutz let herself get clocked.” She finished off with a little chuckle, and what Lexa could imagine was a shake of her head.

Lexa waited for a few seconds for what she assumed would be the continuation of the story, frowning when nothing came. “Aha… and?” She finally asked, not quite so impressed by the information, “That’s not exactly incriminating, Anya. They get hit all the time. It’s half of their job…”

“No.” Anya sighed at the anticlimactic response, the slighted bit of frustration apparent in her voice, “I mean actually _let_ herself get clocked, Lex. Stood in front of the other chick with a piece ready in her hand, and just… _stood there_.” Anya let the words hang in the air for a few heartbeats before continuing. “Got shot and took her buddy down with her. They thought she’d switched teams for a while… turns out she’s just nuts.” Anya chuckled at that, “Threw her down here to get her the fuck out of Chicago, I guess. Somewhere she couldn’t do much damage.” Lexa could hear the excited grin that was making its way into Anya’s voice, “ _Definitely_ not a pretty history…”

Lexa took a minute to let the information settle in her head, her mind taking a million different routes to understand what could drive an Agent to such an act, short of changing sides. “Nuts…” Lexa mused. Nuts was dangerous… Just as easy to turn for you as to turn against you. But Lexa also knew that nuts could be very, _very_ good…

“Yeah. Girl looked like her ex, apparently. Close enough to spook her…” Anya trailed, and Lexa egged her on, feeling that there was a bit more to the story. “Like I said, it’s kind of fucked,” Anya allowed, “Thus the _nuts_. They broke up something like half a decade ago… and she’s _married_. To someone else.”

“Married makes things a bit difficult.” Lexa sighed, nevertheless feeling a little relieved that “nuts” had been a bit of an exaggeration on Anya’s part. “Ok. Make contact.” She decided after a few seconds of consideration. “But be careful. If she isn’t too keen on us, she could always turn. Just to try to get some points with the Feds, after whatever the hell happened in Chicago.”

“Not going to do it yourself?” Anya teased, “You seem her type… or has the other one got you so tied up?” Lexa’s jaw clenched again at the mention of the girl, and she made a note to set her down for a talk later that day. She didn’t accept slacking off from her people. And even less so from her lovers. “Got it, Heda.” Anya finished playfully, choosing to submit to Lexa’s warning growl, knowing not to press her friend too far without expecting repercussions.

“Be careful, Ahn.” Lexa answered, ending the call. She stood there in the cold study for a few minutes, arms casually crossed on her chest, mind deep in thought as she considered the consequences of having another pair of eyes in the elusive Federal building, and the consequences of losing that pair of eyes to Nia...

A hesitant knock jolted her out of her musings, and Lexa smiled apologetically as she opened the door to face Aden, knowing she had gone more than a little ahead of schedule. She could see the nervousness in his eyes, some of the anxiety. He was always careful with interrupting her at work. She was happy he had this time.

She offered him a small smile that just barely made it to her eyes, not quite as soft than the ones she usually offered, and made to grab her keys off the counter. She watched him secure his backpack on with a little grin, and smiled back more fully. “Come on sport,” Lexa offered her hand, “Let’s go put your brain to work.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I apologize for "nuts", but Anya isn't exactly too PC in here... Clarke does have issues though, for reasons that hopefully will make sense. Though Lexa isn't at all far behind on having issues... Hopefully this won't be too slow burn, but god knows I take my sweet time with the set ups. (Edit: Okay, I lied, this seems to be inadvertently, unintentionally slow burn now...)
> 
> Addressing some things, and warnings:
> 
>   * There's no adultery here. Clarke's very divorced. 
>   * This is a graphic and violent world. There will not be any sexual violence on-screen, but one of the major characters is a victim. I'll try my best to handle the issue delicately. 
>   * ~~Also sex workers are heavily mentioned on some occasions. If you have a tendency to have decisively negative opinions of sex workers, you should be aware of that.~~ This was scrapped, so there are no planned mentions of sex work. But tbh, if you _do_ have decisively negative opinions on sex work (in like a slut-shaming kind of way), you still won't be having a great time with this story...
> 



	2. Lukewarm...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa and Clarke start their days at work after their eventful mornings.  
> They go rather differently to say the least...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real quick, thanks a lot for the support so far! I'm more accustomed to posting for mostly dead communities, so I'm not really used to getting kudos and so many comments and shit. You guys are dope. Keep it coming, I'm a sucker for hearing your opinions, no matter how minor. It's part of what motivated me to get this chapter done this early.
> 
> Some housekeeping:  
> -I'm not following the cannon symbols for Trikru and Azgeda. Cause hey, why not? (Also I totally forgot they have symbols on the show until after I wrote this, so...)

Clarke Griffin was coming to desperately regret her coffee sacrifice.

“Trikru.” The presenter exclaimed, giving no context to his words other than a laser pointing towards the picture that occupied the right half of the projector screen. Clarke stared curiously at the strange, wrangled tree that supposedly represented the notorious gang, a far more inspired and detailed brand that she would have expected. The artist tried to read the intricate webbing of branches as a fortune teller would a palm, searching for any hidden meaning that might lay underneath.

Apparently, she was staring a little too curiously, because a pointed clearing of the presenter’s throat brought her attention back to the crowded meeting room in which she was a perpetual center of attention. She looked at the unimpressed Agent that held his laser pointer like a cranky teacher, and tried her best at an apologetic smile. Unsurprisingly, she was answered with nothing but a tired sigh, and an annoyed glare that seemed to have the sole purpose of reminding Clarke of what an idiot she apparently was for even needing a briefing on so rudimentary a matter. It succeeded with flying colors.

“Azgeda.” The presenter continued with his bored voice, he laser now pointing to the other half of the screen, which was occupied by a less intricate brand displaying a large iceberg. Clarke spent another second drinking in the sigil of the other gang, not finding it nearly as interesting or deep as she had the Trikru one. She was almost impressed, Clarke found, by the tree she had just spent a little too long studying, the more mellow and boring iceberg having reminded her of the level of art she would otherwise expect from the rather vicious, simple-minded groups. Of course, it was the kind of “impressed” that was rather lined with competitiveness, with hints of predatory hunger; an attempt to better gauge her enemies with whatever information she could get her hands on. Clarke turned her attention back to the presenter, an Agent Murphy she had gathered, and smiled expectantly, waiting for him to delve into the deep and complex history between the two opposing groups.

Murphy settled on moving his laser pointer to land in between the two drawings, glaring intently at Clarke as he carefully exclaimed: “Rivals.” He let the word hang in the air, stoically observing Clarke’s expression to see if she understood the concepts he was introducing by going beyond one-word titles, or if he had to repeat it a few more times for her sake. “Rivals.” He repeated just in case, moving the pointer between the two drawing as if to solidify the correlation. Like a pet he was having to train…

The smile suddenly dropped from Clarke’s lips like it was burning her skin...

Did they actually think she was an idiot?

“Umm…” She interrupted hesitantly, wincing under her breath at the pointed stare she received from Murphy at her untimely interruption. Clarke gulped as the entire room full of Agents turned to her curiously, amused smirks and sympathetic smiles littered around as they waited for her to continue. “This isn’t really what I meant when I asked for background…” She smiled sheepishly, staring at the Special Agent-in-Charge, Indra, in a silent plea for help, her heart dropping when she was greeted with nothing but a cool smile.

“I believe your exact words were ‘start from the bottom. I literally don’t know anything…’” Indra answered politely, like she was doing nothing more than a helpful friend reminding Clarke of her grocery list, but the bite in her words rang through crystal clear and claimed a mighty chunk out of Clarke’s self-esteem.

“That might have been… a little hyperbole.” She all but whispered, feeling her cheeks burn and body involuntarily sink into her seat as her current place in the social hierarchy began to sink in. A year ago, she had been nothing less than a respected Agent in Chicago with a bright future in the field; never mistrusted, never undermined, and _definitely_ never fucked with in quite this manner. But she wasn’t in Chicago anymore… And in the small FBI department in Arkadia, smack dab in the middle of nowhere, she was little more than the resident laughing stock.

The practice dummy. The shooting target. The bullet sponge…

The girl who’d gone and gotten herself shot. For fun.

“I’m afraid in this department we only speak in literal statements, Agent Griffin. I hope the case wasn’t too different for you back in Chicago.” Indra continued, staring at her long and hard as if to judge the effect of her little display. She seemed to have found what she was looking for in the blonde’s lowered gaze and burning blush, and turned back to the lethally bored Murphy, smiling again with that mask of politeness. “I think that’ll be enough Special Agent Murphy. It seems Griffin here is already quite up to speed on the situation here at Ark.” Steely eyes once again turned to Clarke in a meaningful stare, “As we would no doubt expect of an Agent of her considerable experience…”

Clarke gulped and nodded, her lips slightly quivering as she smiled. There was clearly no winning against this woman. And even less winning against the perfect round of the bullet scar that adorned her side. An angry wound tarnishing her record just as much as it had her skin.

Indra began her scheduled meeting rather suddenly, and rather loudly, as she slammed her hands down on the table to get their attention, startling a frazzled Clarke rather audibly with the maneuver. The SAC’s gaze once again turned to her, and Clarke thought she caught a hint of pity that might have made her blood boil if she had not been so preoccupied with regulating her breathing. “Do you need a moment to collect yourself, Agent Griffin?” Indra asked, not unkindly, entirely ignoring an exasperated Murphy’s sigh of “for fuck’s sake”.

“I…uh…” Clarke started, greeted by a voice that didn’t quite sound like her own. “Yes.” was all she whispered before nearly running out of the room, far from the tens of eyes that no doubt found her breakdown incredibly fascinating. Clarke chanced a glance back through the glass walls, and didn’t catch the room paying her much mind as the meeting continued, now unhindered by the pest that was the new Agent.

Clarke shut her mind off and let her feet guide her wherever they pleased, forcing back the gnawing voice that continually whispered into her ears; made every laugh sound malicious, and every stare feel like it was burrowing through her soul. Every shuddering breath felt like a deep stab at her side, burrowing right into the ugly mark that was a daily reminder of the fragility of her mind.

A gentle hand on Clarke’s shoulder nearly made her yelp, and definitely made her jump. She hissed as warm liquid splashed out of her cardboard cup and onto her hand, nor quite hot enough to burn. She wasn’t quite aware of when she had maneuvered herself into the break room, or poured herself a cup of the lukewarm, bitter coffee that was a staple of the department. But she figured it was somewhere between the labored breaths and the phantom pain in her abdomen.

“You alright there?” The owner of the hand asked gently, and Clarke turned to look at the worried expression of a girl she’d never met. She nodded a lie, forced a smile, and waited for the brunette to turn away from the strange blonde on the verge of a mental breakdown, her good Samaritan duties having been fulfilled. Instead, the girl looked at her with surprisingly empathetic brown eyes, extending a hand in greeting. “Raven Reyes.” She introduced with a small grin, “Special Agent.” Clarke nodded, and made to reach for the hand, only to notice the cup she still held in it, and the warm liquid that was still dripping down the side of her palm. “Uhh…” Raven trailed with furrowed brows, understanding the complication of the current social situation as her eyes fixed on Clarke’s occupied hand. The Special Agent resolved to just pat the other Agent on the side of her shoulder, her grin returning tenfold as Clarke returned a hesitant smile. “I’m guessing from your unfamiliar face that you’d be Clarke Griffin…”

“That would be me,” Clarke replied with a more genuine smile, relaxing at the genuinely friendly look she was receiving from the other girl. She excused herself briefly to throw away her cup and dry her hands, returning to grab the brunette’s hand in a firm shake.

“Thanks,” Raven smirked, “Now my hand’s gonna smell like the shit they have rotting in those brewers…” Clarke raised her brows in surprise, and laughed heartily for what was probably a bit longer than appropriate in response to the less-than-stellar joke. But her body felt like a tightly coiled wire on the verge of snapping, and less-than-stellar had been all she needed to free it in an explosion of released tension. Raven only smiled at the small tears that had gathered in the corner of blue eyes, eventually unable to resist joining the blonde in her chuckles.

Clarke laughed until she wasn’t quite sure what it was that had been funny enough to trigger the first chuckle, and the sight of the brunette by her side laughing just as hard as her was all that was needed to coax another bout of laughter. The same hand that had saved her from the darkest corner of her mind settled on her shoulder once again, seemingly to help the brunette stay upright rather than to provide comfort, as Raven shook in her laughter with far more force than her small figure would betray.

“God.” Clarke gasped, wiping the small tears that had collected in the corner of her eyes as they finally settled down, gasping for breath in a manner that was much more enjoyable than her earlier attempt at breath. “Thanks. I _really_ needed that.” She smiled at Raven, feeling incredibly grateful for the kind-looking Agent that had so easily taken her from drowning in imaginary whispers and stares, to feeling at ease in the company of a long lost friend…

“Yeah, it can be rough.” Raven replied, the sad, empathetic glint back in her eyes. She moved the hand on Clarke’s shoulder to offer her another small pat, this time definitely meant to comfort. “You can make it, though. Gets better after a while…” Raven shrugged. Clarke must have been looking at her rather curiously after the personal-sounding exclamation, and the brunette hesitated for a second under her gaze, looking around to see if anyone was paying attention before bending down to slowly fold up her slacks over her left leg.

“Oh.” Was all Clarke could say as her eyes fell on the prosthetic that sat snugly at the bottom of the girl’s knee, seeming almost like a part of her body with the way she moved on it, but not looking quite the part. She immediately regretted her not-so-eloquent response as Raven raised a single brow at the blonde, and pressed her lips shut as if to prevent her foot from entering her mouth. But it was a bit too late for that…

 _Yep. Good going, Griff._ Clarke cursed at herself, unable to look Raven in the eye. She’d probably just gone and fucked up the one friend she might have had in this building by acting like a tongue-tied ass.

“Yeah… That’s pretty much what my response was.” Raven just chuckled, grinning at Clarke when the blonde gathered enough guts to turn back to her, seemingly not at all bothered by her ineloquent reaction. Clarke couldn’t help but try to imagine a newly injured Raven, laying drowsily on a hospital bed as she glanced down at the dip in the blankets where her left leg should be, removing the sheets curiously and murmuring a little “Oh.” in response.

She couldn’t help but find it oddly in character. 

* * *

 

Lexa picked halfheartedly at a chocolate chip muffin on her plate, alternating the bites with small sips of her decaf. Her other hand continually drummed beats onto the wood of the table, fighting the urge to check her phone. Her mind automatic constructed multiple messages in her head, all directed at the woman she was about to meet, the woman she had been more than a little upset with just half an hour ago. But now Lexa was overwhelmed with nothing but a desire to make sure she was okay, that she was just late because of her own tardiness, and not because of the lack of a beating heart.

She sighed to herself as she nearly picked up the phone in a moment of weakness and worry, cursing her past self under her breath for bringing her personal life so close to her professional one. The brunette instead brought the hand up to massage her forehead, trying to will back some of the anger she was supposed to feel, to replace the worry and concern that she was definitely _not_ supposed to feel. After another deep sigh, Lexa lowered her hand and balled her fists in resolve, moving to ingest her food with much more gusto than before. She would give the girl however much time it took to finish the muffin that lay on her plate. And then make her sorry for making Lexa eat alone.

If Costia wanted to be late, she had better not expect Lexa to be waiting for her merrily, tail wagging for attention.

Lexa flexed her jaw at the image, the anger now returning in earnest. It seemed no one knew where they stood with her anymore. She was the Heda; she did not wait on people at coffee shops. And she definitely did not let her drink go cold, stalling for company worthy enough to pair it with. She would make sure to remind Costia of that.

“Sorry!” A familiar voice called, and Lexa snapped into attention, her jaw still set in irritation. Narrowed eyes fell on the blonde who was approaching her with an apologetic smile, and her scowl made sure to inform her that the smile was not well received. “You wouldn’t believe the day I had even if I told you.” Costia continued with a tired sigh, settling down opposite to Lexa with a coffee and cookie in hand. Lexa was more than tempted to believe the girl who had never once lied to her in the past, but the dent that had begun to form in her trust was not quite ready to be mended.

Lexa’s eyes trailed to the chocolate chip cookie as the blonde took a considerable bite, her mind involuntarily recalling one of the first nights they had spent together after a similar meeting. Costia’s lips had tasted like chocolate…

Lexa had liked it.

“ _Sorry_ doesn’t quite give me back the last 15 minutes of my life, Costia.” Lexa growled, pushing away the unwanted thoughts that had momentarily maneuvered their way into her head. She did not allow her judgement to be impaired, or her glare to falter at the memory of that night, or the many since. But she would be remiss not to notice the evidence of her shoulders relaxing, and her heartrate steadying; breath more easily coming into her lungs with the knowledge that Costia was okay. This, she did not like.

“What’s wrong, Lex?” Costia questioned softly, earnest concern etched onto her face as she extended her hand in a gesture to hold the brunette’s. Lexa felt the glare intensifying at the sight of the worry that clearly shone in Costia’s eyes, and felt her jaw clench. People did not worry for the Heda. Heda made people worry for themselves… And perhaps, the brunette allowed, Aden would sometimes worry for Lexa, given the situation. But Costia needed to be reminded that she was not talking to _Lexa_. She was talking to her Heda. The only reason why she was still alive on this earth. The only reason she wasn’t lying in an unmarked grave in Polis.

“This isn’t a social call.” Was all Lexa answered with as she pulled her hand out of Costia’s reach, her voice delving low into a warning tone as she continued to glare at her lover, “I am _not_ happy, Costia. And that’s a problem.” A flash of hurt momentarily shone in the blonde’s eyes at Lexa’s rejection, slowly blending into cautiousness and anxiety as the brunette’s words finally registered in her head. Lexa took a deep breath, as if to test the air for the scent of fear, feeling markedly more relaxed at this change. This she could deal with… Cautiousness was an emotion worthy of being directed at a Heda.

And this was indeed the Heda’s field; not Lexa’s. Lexa might have simply smiled at Costia, assured her that it was probably just an honest mistake. Perhaps taken her for dinner with Aden, asked her to stay the night and made love till the early hours. But Heda would only stare meaningfully at her subordinate, warn her in a careful voice that this was her first strike. And make sure she realized exactly what another one would entail… Make sure she understood that there was as much reason to fear Heda as there was to care for Lexa.

From the paleness that had replaced the color on Costia’s cheeks, it seemed she knew the distinction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more housekeeping:
> 
>   * I've just thrown the hat in on trying to be uber-realistic with FBI or gangs, so like anything that screams "no that doesn't sound right" because you know more about the subject matter than the ordinary human that is me, do let me know. But also, like, probably just headcannon it because I might not be able to be bend the story to make it work. I'm a perfectionist so I will be trying for as much realism as I can, but I'm letting the story lead me here, not so much the photo realism. 
>   * Speaking of realism I don't quite understand the difference between Agents and Special Agents myself, even after a decent amount of research. So as far as this story's concerned, I'm just treating it like a title thing. Won't make much practical difference where I'm going.
> 

> 
> *Chill guys, this fic doesn't have a Costia/Lexa tag for a reason.*


	3. Tight Lipped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is assigned a seemingly ridiculous and tedious task, which proves to be a bit more than meets the eye. And Lexa reveals a side of herself that is decidedly less concerned with the evenness of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while! I swear, I had like 5 false-starts on this chapter, and ended up rewriting significant parts of both chapters while I was editing... Also lots of planning for the plot, which at least made the wait productive in the long run. Here's a longer chapter to make up for my chronic writer's block!
> 
> Updates on plot-stuff:
> 
>   * My original decision about 6 years was more or less arbiturary at the start of this fic. But after an insane about of timeline-mapping, and world-building, it turns out that I actually need about 7 years to make this all work… So it’s 7 years now instead of 6 (everyone’s ages remain the same though).
>   * While this wasn't clear in the earlier chapter, Murphy is indeed an ASAC (Assistant Special-Agent-in Command), essentially the second-in-command to Indra.
>   * I'll be including some background world-building information in the endnotes sometimes, just because I can't really fit all this shit in the chapters most of the time. I'd probably recommend giving them a look to get a handle on, well, background, and some loose ends.
> 


Clarke’s eyes were strained shut in an attempt to block out any evidence of the world around her, the very tip of her tongue just barely peeking out to lick dry lips whenever she felt their distracting dryness. The palms of her hands occasionally pressed against her ears, holding the over-sized pair of headphones in place in a less than gentle way, as if she could just forcefully shove the sharp, unfamiliar sounds that rang through the earpieces into her mind and maybe make some sense of them.

Trigedasleng, she had concluded so far, was a bit of a fucking nightmare.

The blonde was keenly aware that she had yet to move on from transcribing the first tape of many, having only just managed her way halfway through it in what felt like hours. She continually paused and rewound the tape like a madman, until the unfamiliar sounds were less striking to her ears, and she could just barely parse the phonemes that met her ears, taking educated guesses on where one word ended and the other began. At her current, though meticulous, pace, she was dangerously close to just taking the work home to get it done at any semblance of a reasonable time frame. It also didn’t quite help that the quality of the tapes was quite a bit less than ideal, the most recent one being almost a year old, or that most of them seemed to be from young spouses updating grocery lists, or arguing over the phone in an incomprehensible mix of Trig and English.

Her hand occasionally moved away from the keyboard to scribble down notes or keywords in a barely-legible scrawl, a result of years of fast-paced note-taking, and she sighed in annoyance whenever she was forced to break the flow of the tape to record some of her more complex thoughts. In those brief moments, Clarke would occasionally take a peek at the clock that sat at the corner of her cubicle, trying to maintain some connection to the outside world beyond the one she had encased herself in. Though if Clarke was quite honest, she was certain her mind had reached a point where it could only really comprehend time in terms of how many coffees she had digested…

As if on cue, the signature scent of the watery liquid she had somehow convinced her stomach to digest filled the immediate air in her cubicle. Blue eyes opened just in time for a cup of perpetually lukewarm coffee to be placed onto her desk, a commendable task given the amount of papers that were already flooding the surface.

“You’re a God…” Clarke moaned unashamedly, not even sparing her savior a glance as she reached for her sustenance. She had been a bit surprised to find that the coffee at Ark wasn’t too bad to get down if it was still on the warmer side of lukewarm, already an improvement on Chicago, but it was the god-awful aftertaste that made Clarke regret the life choices that had led her to consuming it.

“More like the Reaper.” She heard Raven mumble as she took off her headphones, frowning at how sweaty the skin of her ears had gotten from the overt warmth. She turned to see the brunette eyeing the cup with more than a little distaste, nearly cringing as she witnessed Clarke ingest it. “Gah!” Raven shuddered, “Whatever you’re up to better be fucking worth it…”

Clarke smiled a bit at that, knowing it was less of an off-hand remark, and more of an attempt to gently check up on Clarke; to see if she needed any help. She supposed she ought to feel a little offended by the thought, patronized perhaps, but nothing in the Special Agent’s gaze resembled the stony glare she had gotten from ASAC when he had assigned her to her current black hole of wiretaps.

“Doesn’t really take much to be worth it, really. This stuff’s already a marked improvement on Chicago.” She informed, nevertheless eying her cup a little warily, as if in an attempt to convince her mind of her own words. Never one to be outdone, the blonde responded to the skeptical brow of the other Agent by taking a commendable gulp of the liquid under discussion. Of course, Clarke had only ventured to take the sip to relieve some of the aftertaste that had already begun to fester, but Raven didn’t quite need to know that bit.

Raven’s brow had just about halved its distance from her hairline by the time Clarke reemerged from her short dive. “Ugh,” The brunette grumbled, her nose scrunched up in distaste, “This is like seeing people wear sweaters in the summer, isn’t it?”, her eyes remained unwillingly locked to the emptying cup of coffee in Clarke’s hand, “I can just fucking _taste_ that shit just looking at you.” Clarke only grinned wider, quite enjoying the colorful expressions she was drawing from the girl as she chugged the rest of the lukewarm drink. She was rewarded with a legitimate shiver of disgust from the brunette, nearly choking a chuckle into the coffee in response. “I think I’m officially done being the coffee bringer in this relationship…” The girl mumbled, sour expression still on her face, though the little smile that teased her lips was enough to make the light banter both comfortable and familiar. Raven eyed the headphones framing Clarke’s grinning face, shaking her head in disbelief, “Don’t care what music you’re blasting in there... Some things just aren’t worth the taste-bud genocide…”

Clarke chuckled at that, truthfully beginning to regret her rather brash display now that the familiar after-taste was coming back with a vengeance. “Well, I think I’m having a big phase with foreign music.” She attempted to joke, cringing inwardly at the painfully obvious disparity between the brunette’s humor and her own. Or lack thereof.

 When she was only greeted with a confused, albeit polite, smile from the other Agent, she gestured in the direction of her meager auditory equipment as an explanation, poking at her mouse to rouse the idle monitor. “Transcribing some Polis taps,” She elaborated, “Otherwise known as guaranteeing years of hearing aids in your future…” The blonde couldn’t help but smile a bit as she gave her equipment a once over, starting to feel a bit more at home in the little bubble she had formed in her cubicle. “I’m making a day of it though. Even if it is mostly just _‘_ busywork’,” Clarke quoted Murphy’s words, leaving out the bit that had claimed that ‘ _not even you can fuck this up, Griffin_ _’._ She’d almost been tempted to somehow beak the barely-functional auditory equipment, just to prove him wrong…

Clarke turned her attention back to the brunette, noting with surprise the way Raven’s smile had dimmed the slightest as she took in the information, her chocolate eyes gazing intently at the incomplete transcription that lit up Clarke’s monitor. “I didn’t know they still put Agents on that.” Raven murmured softly, almost to herself. The words seemed loaded with undecipherable weight, and somehow, Clarke didn’t think she was talking about the blonde’s over-qualification for the rather simple task.

Clarke matched Raven’s frown in confusion, eying the girl curiously, and feeling more than a little intrigued by the unexpected response to what she had thought to be unglamorous, albeit interesting, grunt-work. “Reyes? You alright?” She ventured to ask. But Raven appeared to be a bit too occupied in staring intently at the Agent before her, as if carefully considering the blonde, a mixture of panic and concern lighting her eyes. Clarke only watched silently, her frown deepening in mild discomfort at being the object of such an intense stare.

After a few more seconds of still contemplation, the brunette seemed to have found whatever it was she had been looking for in Clarke’s eyes, and the concern in Raven’s eyes eventually won out over everything else. The Special Agent’s guarded stance softened, even as her mild frown deepened. “He really shouldn’t have given you that, is all…” The girl looked like she was rather carefully choosing her words, keeping a lightness to her tone that made Clarke unsure of exactly what it was they’re talking about. But she had an inkling it was a bit more than just office politics and menial tasks.

“Oh.” Was all Clarke could think to say through furrowed brows, not quite certain how to take the brunette’s statement. If she was being honest, she hadn’t exactly been looking forward to going in guns-blazing — for lack of a better term — into a city she barely knew. And a nice office task — even if it was more suited for someone lower in the hierarchy, and admittedly mind-numbingly tiring — was something she was quite content with at the moment. But it seemed as though all she had managed to do was trip over yet another one of the invisible lines that littered the particular department...

“I didn’t really think it was a big deal.” Clarke trailed, eying the brunette a bit cautiously, trying to gauge if she was being honest with the blonde, “I mean, I saw some old transcripts lying around…” Clarke couldn’t help but bite her lip a bit sheepishly at that, more than aware that _lying around_ was a bit of an understatement. She’d had to all but scavenge for any transcriptions she could find from the sea of unrelated paperwork that had arrived at her desk — which also happened to include a High School copy of _‘The Colorful History of Arkadia’_ , much to Clarke’s lack of amusement. The handful of papers she _had_ managed to find seemed to be almost deliberately out of order, and reflected a laughably low percent of the boxes and boxes of neglected tapes that towered in the corner of her cubicle. Even then, she had thought it more than a little strange to have so few prior transcriptions on file, when the tapes themselves so obviously ran back a good number of years…

“We don’t do them anymore.” Raven answered resolutely, and the finality in her tone made it quite clear that the topic was closed for discussion. The brunette bit her lip nervously at Clarke’s intense gaze, realizing that her words were being taken in rather eagerly by curious, blue eyes. “I mean…” The brunette fumbled in an attempt to recover the lightheartedness of their conversation, “It’s not really the best use of our time… from an efficiency standpoint, you know?” Raven smiled, though Clarke could easily see through the rather obvious attempt at deflection, almost feeling a bit offended that the brunette would think she’d fall for it. The blonde suddenly found herself in Raven’s earlier position, gazing intently into the near-stranger’s eyes, trying to decipher her trustworthiness.

She had heard the rumors about Arkadia back when she was assigned to the troubled city. That more than half the law enforcement wore either green or red in the privacy of their homes, and the notion of an officer serving the people, instead of the ruling gangs, was a rarity at best. And she’d had her suspicions that some of the Agents in the department probably wouldn’t be too far behind either…

But even with her limited knowledge about the girl in front of her, Clarke couldn’t quite imagine Raven as falling into the category of a traitor, let alone someone who would try to maliciously deceive the new Agent. And if she were to put the odds of the brunette doing so, versus the person who assigned her the task — Murphy…

Murphy, who Clarke had come to realize fell on the other end of most of the curses that echoed around the department…

Ok. Clarke was willing to admit that she could see potential whispers of smoke in the distance.

The blonde bit her lip a bit too hard, conflicted and confused about what the brunette’s words meant for her, if she were to entertain the notion that they were true. But even if Raven was being honest, and there was something outside of Clarke’s knowledge that made the position more than a little undesirable, Clarke wasn’t quite sure if she could do much about it. She was more than aware that she had no room to maneuver when it came to determining her assignments. Not right now, when she had all but sauntered into an unfamiliar FBI department without doing nearly enough homework beforehand. When she had gone in foolishly expecting to be treated the way she used to be more than a year ago — an experienced Agent with a promising career and more than enough right to be a little cocky. But she was the black sheep now, and she barely seemed to have the right to breath the same air as Murphy, let alone be cocky…

So if this was in fact a pile of mud that she had been assigned to roll around in, she could only ask if her superiors had a preference of barrel rolls or somersaults…

Clarke wondered if that’s what it was. If her current assignment was equivalent to some kind of a social demotion in the department; something left only to the most useless and expendable staff. She could imagine as much from Murphy, who had made his distaste for her more than a little clear. Perhaps even from Indra, who also didn’t seem to have much care for the blonde at the moment. And if that’s all this was, then Clarke would quite readily accept the task of climbing back up the social ladder.

But somehow, from what she had gathered from the legitimate concern and borderline-fear that shone in Raven’s eyes, Clarke had a feeling that superficial office politics were the least of her problems…

* * *

 

Costia was only dimly aware of the untouched coffee that lay on the table, rapidly nearing inedible levels of coldness. Just as she was only dimly aware of the secluded corner of the Dropship they were currently occupying, just perfectly out of sight or earshot. The more active part of her mind was instead busy echoing the words that had been all but growled at her not ten seconds ago.

_“I am_ **_not_ ** _happy, Costia._ _”_

The blonde had heard that voice before, far more times than she could count. She had come to associate it with the near constant interruptions that so often invaded her time with the brunette, both in and out of bed. It was the voice Lexa used when answering calls from work, so different from the one she would be using just seconds before, while murmuring an apology to her lover with a tired smile. It was a voice Costia knew made many shiver, in either fear or reverence. A voice most of the Agents at her department were dying to catch…

But it was not the voice that was reserved for Costia. For Costia, there were only those soft murmurs and little smiles that she had learned to cherish, even if they sometimes didn’t reach vibrant green eyes. And even though Costia knew the voice always crawled just below the surface, ready to reveal itself on the smallest incitement, it had never broken through. Not in the years that had passed since the first night they had shared a bed.

Not until now.

_Fuck._

The blonde took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself, willing her racing mind not to overreact. While Costia had never had much experience with Lexa as a _Heda_ , much less her bad side, her panicked thoughts had more than enough information to go on from the grapevine. Distant rumors entered her mind of their own accord, whispers among antsy FBI Agents of a newly-crowned Heda kicking one of her men off a building, for nothing more than a few ill-advised words. Costia nearly breathed a sigh of relief with the knowledge that she was on solid ground.

“I’m only going to ask once, Costia. And I implore you to think very carefully before you answer.” Lexa murmured softly, breaking the thick silence that had enveloped the two. Costia could tell by the narrowing of Lexa’s eyes that her anxiety wasn’t going unnoticed, though she couldn’t quite tell if the Heda was pleased, or if the lover distraught. Perhaps a bit of both…

Lexa’s eyes continued to bore into the wide browns of her lover, and Costia murmured a small “Of course, Heda.”, feeling the smallest surge of relief as Lexa visibly flinched at the use of the title, clearly not comfortable with the unfamiliar power dynamics that seemed to be at play between the two.

But the softness in green eyes vanished just as soon as it had appeared, and the brunette’s voice was more Heda than Lexa as she questioned the blonde calmly. “Are you playing me?” She asked tonelessly, her voice coming out firm but not altogether angry, much to Costia’s surprise. The words seemed to be an invitation rather than an accusation, the last extension of the olive branch. A chance to be honest and pray for mercy, rather than foolishly expecting absolution.

“God, no!” Costia answered without hesitation, her denial fervent despite being a mere whisper. Her stance faltered slightly as she saw Lexa’s jaw clench and eyes narrow, carefully taking in the blonde for all she was worth. But it was the truth, Costia knew. She may have been foolish, of course, in not approaching Anya first about the information, but she was _not_ a traitor... Only a girl who cared far more for her lover than her lover ever could for her.

Costia watched as the brunette’s rivaling masks violently battled in her head, her lips pressed into a fine line as she continued to consider whether or not to believe the girl in front of her. “Then I hope you can help me understand…” Lexa sighed, her jaw relaxing, even while her eyes remained unrelenting, “If you aren’t playing me, then why exactly do I feel like I’ve been made a fool?” The blonde could hear the hints of anger that reverberated in her voice, replacing the calm notes from before. Her mind was quick to resume it’s previous state of spiraling into panic, and this time she didn’t find it nearly as much of an overreaction.

“I wasn’t thinking...” The blonde whispered, almost to herself, cursing her own lack of foresight. She really _hadn_ _’t_ been thinking, not about her actions or her excuses. She hadn’t been thinking of anything other that Lexa, and the sadness that still shone in her eyes late at night…

“Don’t.” Lexa warned with a low growl, her green orbs filled with nothing but impatient anger, and Costia turned her eyes back from where they had settled on her hands. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know what you were doing.” The Heda commanded, nearly taking the words right out of Costia’s mouth. “And don’t tell me you didn’t think it was important enough to mention.” The Heda’s gaze was fiery and dangerous, and Costia could feel herself all but tremble under the strength of it.

She knew she had to speak. Had to explain herself. Something; _anything_. But she knew nothing would satisfy the Heda but the truth; Costia hadn’t _thought_ of anything to say but the truth. And the truth was something that she was not too keen on disclosing…

Lexa picked up on the blonde’s hesitation, and a shaky breath escaped her lips in answer, kissing the top of Costia’s cheek as it passed. The brunette slumped back into her chair, her eyes forced shut like she had swallowed something distasteful, clearly having taken the Agent’s extended silence as an affirmation of her betrayal. Costia opened her lips to attempt a response, to try and assure her lover that she would never purposefully break her trust. But all that escaped her cherry lips was a soft, shaky breath of her own. The blonde could only watch silently as Lexa’s delicate-looking hands gripped the edge of the table, the skin of her palm and knuckles turning white with exertion. She was more that sure it would leave marks, though not nearly as permanent as the patterns of ink and scars that adorned the rest of the Heda’s body.

“Costia…” She heard a soft whisper call to her after what felt like hours of heavy silence. Costia swallowed down the tornado of emotion that had taken residence in the back of her throat, taking a second to collect whatever remained of her resolve before turning to face her lover. The blonde nearly gasped at the sight that welcomed her, of green eyes devoid of the anger and betrayal they had been flooding in moments ago, now gazing at her with nothing but a look of utter resignation and exhaustion. The hard lines of the Heda’s face had finally made for one she was far more familiar with — _Lexa._

“Please.” Lexa whispered, her eyes all but begging Costia not to force her hand; not to make the Heda do something she so desperately didn’t want to. To just open up to her. To let her _help_. “Just tell me…” She urged her lover, familiar softness making its return in her voice, “Please, Costia. I won’t…” The brunette stopped at that, her voice dangerously close to breaking at the next word, and swallowed before continuing. “I won’t be mad, Cos… No one’s gonna hurt you.” Lexa said carefully, as if forcing her lips to move in ways that physically pained her, “But I need to know….”

And that was all it took for the blonde to break, the soft breathing of ‘Cos’ escaping from full lips, and the whispers of pain that shone in her lover’s eyes. A lover she had only ever wanted to protect from the pain of broken memories. “I didn’t want to hurt you…” Costia admitted in a breaking voice, her eyes no longer capable of looking anywhere but the melted mess of the stale cookie that still sat on the coffee table.

Costia could feel the Heda’s eyes studying her intently, drinking in her words. “But you did hurt me, Cos.” Lexa stated carefully after a few seconds of thought, hints of confusion apparent in her voice as she struggled to comprehend her lover’s actions. “You hurt _all_ of us… We could have been reaching out to the girl days before she even set foot in Arkadia. I can bet Nia was…” The Heda let out a gruff sigh at that, obviously still upset with her informant’s negligence. But there was no blame in that voice, none of the anger or doubt that had been directed at the blonde since the start of their meeting.

“You know how delicate everything is right now, Costia. You know how hard I’m trying to make this work…” Lexa continued in a barely audible whisper, her voice coming out muffled as she rubbed a hand along her face. Tired eyes greeted the blonde when she finally turned to meet her lover’s gaze once again. They were eyes of the fearless leader that Polis had come to admire, carrying the weight of far too many lives on her shoulders, and even more blood on her hands. But there were also eyes of a mother, filled with dread at the thought of being ripped away from the only light that remained in her life, either in death or behind bars. And eyes of a lover, worrying her enemies would punish an innocent for her crimes if they ever knew she meant more to the Heda than an occasional bed warmer.

“I was counting on you…” And now, those eyes Costia had grown to love so desperately were staring into hers with nothing but pain and disappointment.

“I…” Costia all but felt her heart constricting at the emotions that were reflected in those vibrant green eyes, triggering conflicting emotions in her own heart. The elation of being considered valuable by the Heda, and the despair of having failed her coiled into a tight knot in the pit of her stomach. She knew the Heda was right, that even if Costia hadn’t been thinking of what she was doing, she had certainly been more than aware of the value of the information she had kept to herself. She had known full well that the loyalty of the right person in the right place could so easily break the violent stalemate that had formed between Azgeda and Trikru. So easily separate heads from shoulders, mothers from sons, and curse the parts of Central Arkadia that remained untouched to the unrelenting wrath of the Azgeda Queen.

And Costia was keenly made aware yet again of the sheer mess of a situation she had managed to maneuver herself into. All because… “I didn’t want to lose you.” The confession finally came.

The ensuing silence did nothing to slow the blonde’s racing pulse, which only quickened at her lover’s next words. “I won’t stop seeing you just because a new Agent’s in town, Costia.” Lexa whispered softly, sounding more than a little confused. Still, Costia noticed, the brunette had chosen her words carefully. The pair weren’t exclusive, that much had always been made clear to Costia, and she knew it was as much for her own safety as for the sanctity of their business relationship. They didn’t owe each other any loyalty, except for that which their alternate roles demanded. Or at the very least, they weren’t meant to. And yet, Costia knew both their bedsheets had long since memorized the scent of the other’s perfume…

Costia also noticed that Lexa seemed to not have the slightest inkling of Arkadia’s new blue-eyed visitor, of the pain Costia had foolishly attempted to shield her from, if her confused response was any indication. And the blonde wondered if that was a relief or a curse for her current predicament. But when Costia looked back into her lover’s eyes to reluctantly attempt to fill the gaps of her knowledge, the soft depths she had been presented with just moments ago had already hardened into sharp, cold emeralds. “You really think that little of me?” The brunette asked, her earlier confusion now stepping into the dangerous realm of indignation and offense. Green eyes were suddenly burned alight, crackling with something more dark and _unhinged_ than Costia had ever seen. 

And the blonde Agent came to the conclusion that the current state of events was all quite concretely in the realm of a curse… One that seemed to have spiraled her normally tender lover into an altogether different direction.

 “You think I go running to bed every Agent on the market?” Lexa asked carefully, her voice low and dangerous as her eyes stared daggers into the blonde, the unfamiliar darkness in them only intensifying. Costia only blinked at the question, the stark opposite of the words she had been expecting upon baring her soul to her lover. The Agent herself hadn’t met with the Heda until months of loyalty, and the idea of the Trikru leader functioning otherwise was far too ridiculous to warrant a response. But her lover seemed to have raised the question quite seriously, and Costia could only open her lips to try to refute the ridiculous notion when she was interrupted once again, this time with much more ferocity.

“You think I’m just passed around to Feds to _fuck_ them into loyalty?” Lexa asked again, her voice deceptively calm, even as her clenched fists quivered on the coffee table. The recognition in her eyes had all but vanished behind the raging fire. “The resident Trikru _whore_?”

Costia just continued to stare blankly at the words, and waited for the girl in front of her to let her in on the joke. To break out into chuckles at the terrified look on Costia’s face, or let her know she was just messing with the girl. But Costia did not know Lexa to be one fond of jokes. And the prominent muscle along her jawline that signified the harsh clenching of teeth did not quite look amused.

But to use the term _whore_ was, to put it lightly, a gargantuan leap from the handful of words that had escaped Costia’s lips. And yet, she seemed to have struck a cord. Or perhaps all of them…

“That’s not what I…” Costia started, cutting herself short and deciding to instead go with a terse but insistent “ _No_.” Because while she had no clue what it was that could have made her lover’s mind take that turn, the overwhelming darkness that flickered in the green of the Heda’s eyes did not make the blonde too eager to find out. The brunette did not seem altogether too persuaded by Costia’s denial, though Costia honestly doubted she was in much of a state to be persuaded by anything at all. And the surfacing madness in her eyes was enough to make Costia’s insides shiver, beginning to blur the lines her mind had formed between Lexa and Heda.

Suddenly, the thought of this girl killing one of her own men over a handful of petty words didn’t seem like nearly as much of a stretch.

“No?” Lexa asked, her voice lingering just as much on the edge as she was, “Then what exactly did you mean to say?”

Costia’s lips opened helplessly, at a loss for how to handle this foreign side of her lover. And for the first time in the years she had spent knowing and loving the brunette before of her, now quivering with rage and madness, Costia couldn’t quite tell where the Heda ended, and where Lexa began.

Trembling, rosy lips whispered the only thing that remained unsaid between them, her desire to protect her lover from heartache beginning to shrink to nothingness in the face of her fear of the very same lover. The only words that Costia could manage through the foggy haze of emotion that made her all but choke.

“Clarke Griffin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background:
> 
>   * Polis is the subset of Arkadia that had been claimed by Trikru. People here (and in Azgeda’s territory) do speak in Trig occasionally, as a result of decades of the rival group’s activity in the area (also read as, “Just go with it”).
>   * You can assume that the FBI’s taps are pretty nondiscriminatory and just an attempt to collect uses of Trig to attempt to translate and be able to decode correspondences among Trikru and Azgeda. They’re haven’t been too great at it so far… And yes, it's crazy stupid to make Clarke transcribe a language she doesn't even understand... But there are reasons why no one else is around to do it (which will hopefully make sense). (EDIT: Also, I've decide that Trig in this world is less of a literal new language, and more of a coded version of English. Almost like pig latin, but with altogether different rules.) 
>   * And yes, you can assume that when any work calls or texts take place, they’re in Trigedasleng, just in case. 
>   * I have a potential picture of The Dropship that I like. It’s basically just a hipster coffee place with a unnecessarily large lounging area. So yeah, Lex and Costia are pretty careful about where they talk. (I’m not gonna lie tho the Dropship scene was initially just there as a catalyst for Clarke and Lexa to meet, but I scrapped that because too much cheese so heyyyy. Just let me pretend it was all intentional and makes sense.) 
> 

> 
> Housekeeping Again:
> 
>   * -Just wanted to give a general thanks for all the feedback in the comments! I really appreciated it because it helps me see if I made a scene come across in a way I didn’t intend. I know I’ve been kinda shit with replying (I’m awkward when I don’t have anything to say), but I’ll try to do that a lot more!  
> 
>   * -I also really love to hear about y’alls theory-crafting! Some of you are wondering if Aden’s biological or adopted, and trying to get a handle on his age… Keep the theories coming, I love them, and it's crazy helpful for me as a writer to have an idea of the kind of questions that are swirling in your head. 
> 

> 
> ***Also just wanted to put it out there that Lexa isn’t actually in any way abusive/violent or controlling in her romantic relationship with Costia. Some of the stuff in this chapter was necessary for her as Heda, while other stuff was just Lexa being more than a little broken.***


	4. The "K"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though I tend to like having mildly confusing intros, I just wanted to let you know that this chapter starts *before* the last dialogue line of the previous chapter (aka "Clarke Griffin").  
> Also, a few upcoming chapters will be getting a bit more Lexa-centric as we begin to explore her character.

Lexa felt as though the world was spinning around her, with no clear intention of stopping despite the stinging bile that crept up her throat. Neatly trimmed nails dug crescents into the flesh of her palm, while her other hand trembled with the ferocity of its grip on the table, but like the whirl of the world around her, none of it seemed to quite make it to her head. Her mind was solely reserved for the violent tornado of thoughts and emotions that threatened to whisk her away and tear her to pieces. Her racing heart flooded with nothing but outrage, anger, and blinding pain, unwillingly falling deeper into a broken kind of madness with every second that ticked by. With every unwelcomed, abhorrent thought that wormed its way into her head, and nestled snugly under her skin.

The wide, brown eyes of the woman before her made it quite clear that the low rumbling of her voice was doing well to reflect the current state of her mind. And _that_ — more than the violent trembling of her stinging fists, or the violence brimming in her own chest — made it equally clear that the brunette was currently lingering on the verge of another episode…

And yet, it took only an exorcism of two words — whispered like a desperate prayer from unfamiliar lips — to bring the emerald back in her eyes. Banish the ghosts of her past, and replace them with another…

“Clarke Griffin…”

It was not a name Lexa had ever thought she would hear again, probably for the remainder of her life. Not a name she ever allowed entrance into her mind if she could help it, which she had for several long years. But even as the name had been declared taboo in her mind, the brunette would be a fool to think the owner could ever stop haunting it. It had been the first thing, after all, that had entered her mind upon meeting Costia’s gaze for the first time — how her hair was just a few shades lighter than the other blonde’s familiar locks, but similar enough for Lexa to almost feel the familiar softness running through her fingers. And it had been the first thing she had thought of when she had laid eyes on a tiny Aden, all those years ago. Often times what she thought of still when she ruffled his golden locks with a soft smile coating her lips…

Clarke Griffin.

And the darkness of her past that had seeped its way into the underside of her skin, in the form of old, broken memories and distorted thoughts, was suddenly replaced by an altogether different tingle. A shiver equal parts pleasant and stinging reverberated through her very being as the name echoed in her ears, seemingly having forgotten what it sounded like in her own head. 

“Clarke...” She whispered before she could quite stop herself, her lips breathing out the name like a soft caress. Lexa couldn’t manage to suppress a stronger shiver as the familiar “k” in the name hit the back of her throat, feeling powerless as the dusty key she had tossed away years ago reacquainted itself with the rusted lock of her memories.

Her mind immediately flooded with vivid images of soft eyes and even softer skin, of the handful of years of her life that had been filled to the brim with the most tender, selfless love, and the warmth of a familiar body. Memories of years followed by nothing but a near eternity of emptiness and pain…

The name continued to ring in her ears, and the Heda released a heavy breath as the force of emotions seemed to all but knock the air out of her lungs. It was an entirely different kind of breathlessness than the one she had been a victim of earlier, devoid of the blind rage and violent itch, or the pain of old memories that made her want to tear everything around her, everything inside her, until nothing remained. These were memories of love and life rather than hate and pain, leaving her with only a desperate ache in her heart, and an emptiness that she had never quite managed to fill...

And the other owner of those memories, Clarke Griffin… was in Arkadia?

The Heda blinked, clearing out the clouds that had been shielding her from the world around her. Seconds had kept on ticking without her consent, as they so often did, and Lexa found that the girl sitting across from her had managed to recompose herself from her prior disheveled state. She also found, after another couple of heart beats of inspection, that the owner of rosy lips and brown eyes that had been turned towards her earlier had been far from unfamiliar after all.

A cool breath entered Lexa’s lungs, feeling like a splash of ice water reuniting her with reality. The ensuing exhale and another blink finalized the process, ripping her away from memories of the soft warmth of familiar skin, back to the more sticky warmth of blood and grime that now consisted of her world. Green eyes met with brown, no longer betraying any of the emotion that lay underneath, though Lexa doubted Costia needed any more hints with the loud drumming of the brunette’s heart.

“Is that name supposed to mean something to me?” She asked, trying her best to maintain a level tone, even as her voice grew hoarse with emotion. The way Costia’s lips were firmly situated between her teeth in nervousness, her eyes reflecting some of the pain that stung at Lexa’s heart, made it more than clear that her efforts were not very persuasive.

“I read her file…” Costia admitted, speaking with wariness fit for poking a bear, as if any one of her most benign words could set the brunette off like a string of fireworks. Lexa’s jaw clenched at the thought, growing more and more aware of the near-episode her lover had nearly witnessed, when Lexa could hardly even tell who she herself was, let alone the blonde before her. “Brown undergrad, around the same time as you.” Costia continued to list off, hesitating for a few seconds before whispering carefully, “And… you talk in you sleep sometimes.”

Lexa pursed her lips at that, not sure how she felt about the revelation. She had spent many nights sharing a bed with Costia, sometimes even without the prerequisite of coital activities. And many nights meant many nightmares, and times she would wake in the early hours between night and day, a thin sheen of sweat on her body, gasping hard enough for her lungs to burn. Times she would wake with a signature hoarseness in her throat that usually accompanied her screams, and a scared looking blonde by her side, regarding her with worried brown eyes. Lexa wondered which of those nights she might have let the name of her old lover pass her lips… She figured, with the odds alone, that it was more likely one of the nightmares than the rare nights she had spent without.

“I’m sorry, Lex. Really, I just— I knew you’d worry… and hurt...” Costia continued to mumble, and Lexa felt her heart clench at the sight of the pure devotion that shone in her eyes. Those wide, concerned caramels that had always trusted the brunette so implicitly, without even seeing half of who she truly was. Filled with emotions she had done nothing to deserve, and that her heart could never even begin to reciprocate…

The Heda understood now, at least, why Costia had neglected her duties so recklessly, putting both her loyalty and life on the line just for the sake of saving her lover some pain. But it had hardly mattered in the end, as the brunette grew exhausted with the sheer strength of conflicting emotions in her heart, and the innocent blonde lay at a risk of being caught in the crossfire like she almost had just minutes earlier. “I know who she was... What she meant—”

“Like Hell you do!” Lexa spat out the words in an impulsive growl, not inclined to let the girl finish her sentence. Costia winced at the yell, immediately making the last functioning iota of Lexa’s brain feel immeasurably guilty, while the rest of her was powerless against the sweeping waves of emotion that the words had unlocked. “Nothing, is what.” The Heda hissed, her voice scathing through clenched teeth, “She means _nothing_.”

“Okay…” Costia whispered in response, the slight hurt in her eyes making it clear that she could tell it was quite the opposite. Her lips tucked themselves back into her mouth in a sign of nervousness, and Costia looked at her with nothing but apologies shining in her eyes. “I’m sorry if I overstepped… _That_ I overstepped. It wasn’t my place.” The blonde tensed her jaw at the last sentence, taking a second to accept the words herself before continuing with a soft sigh of regret, “I fucked up... I know with how many connections the Griffins have… and her mother…”

Lexa heard a crash resonate somewhere in the room, and it took her more than a few seconds to realize that it was, in fact, the back of her chair, forcefully clashing onto the floor of the Dropship because of her movement. The brunette was suddenly standing tall over the coffee table without quite remembering having stood up, a painful death grip on the soft wood before her for support. She could just about hear rather than feel the force of her breath in her ears, much deeper than normal, and on the verge of either panic or something far worse. But she knew it was neither. Just remnants of what used to be a deep, resounding pain hidden somewhere in a corner of her heart, always eager for a chance to make its presence known. To remind her that, like the feel of her first love’s name, it had never quite dulled over the years.

“I’m sorry…” Lexa husked through clenched teeth, eyes clasped shut in a futile struggle for control. An episode like the one she had been in the midst of, even on the best of days, with Anya struggling to keep her at bay and ease her out, always left her a crumbled, emotional mess by the end. But she had not been eased out, or reached an end of any means, and the emotions had only piled on top of one another into a dangerous peak. Pain mixed with pain, both the ghosts of her past playing mercilessly with the threads of her sanity.

She left with nothing but a crumpled hundred in her wake, her feet walking with muscle memory to the closest bar…

* * *

  _Spring 2006_ _— 11 Years Ago_

“Let me guess,” Playful eyes hummed, “Poli Sci…”

Lexa only raised her brow at that, letting emerald eyes trail from the paper canvas by her feet, up to the sound of her partner’s voice. It was a question she encountered a bit too often, one she had quickly grown tired of by the start of her sophomore year, and only ever answered with a stiff shrug nowadays. It had always irked her that proper posture and decent articulation were somehow enough for everyone to so readily label her a stereotypical pre-law, with no clear basis in fact or reason.

It annoyed her even more that they were right…

 And yet, as she looked into blue eyes that were growing more familiar by the day, Lexa couldn’t quite help the small intrigued smile that sneaked its way onto her lips, instead of the usual noncommittal shrug. The strange blonde before her seemed to have breathed new life into the question as she narrowed blue eyes in challenge, her little smirk almost daring Lexa to say otherwise. And suddenly, the stereotyping didn’t seem quite as insulting as before…

It also helped that Lexa’s blonde classmate was currently seated across from her on the dorm floor, wearing a low-cut v-neck as she hunched over their canvas almost on purpose, a ready pencil in hand. And that she was frankly quite…endowed. And perhaps equally as strange…

And quite possibly flirting.

“That’s very presumptuous of you, Clarke.” Lexa answered evenly through the slight tilt of her lips, returning her attention to the project responsible for the freshman’s frequent presence in her dorm room over the past week. Well, one of the reasons, at least. “I thought Art majors were expected to be the epitome of open-mindedness…”

“Are they?” Clarke hummed in question, a sour dip now marking her smile, even as she attempted to keep it upright, “Guess I wouldn’t really know…” The blonde trailed with a shrug, and Lexa inwardly frowned at the dimmed atmosphere, minutely mourning her lost chance of striking home on the first guess. “And you’re _definitely_ a Poli Sci, talking like that…” Clarke grinned proudly, letting out a soft chuckle at a second, more aggressive, raising of Lexa’s brow. “Chill, Lexa. I like it.” The girl smiled, her eyes bright with more life and freedom than Lexa could ever recalled seeing in the mirror... “It’s weird — Suits you.”

It definitely wasn’t one of the most stunning compliments she had recieved... But Lexa decided she could probably live with… _weird_.

“I’ll hand you half a point for being partially right.” The brunette allowed, pausing mid-shrug as she caught Clarke’s smug expression, immediately changing her mind on the matter. “A quarter point.” She decided instead, smiling a little despite her attempted stoicism as she took in the unfair pout on the blonde’s lips, “You lose a quarter for presumptuousness and stereotyping…” Lexa smiled triumphantly at the blonde’s exaggerated eye roll of annoyance.

“Like you’re far behind on those. Thinking I’m an Art major just cause I draw…” Clarke shot back with a scoff, turning her attention back to the canvas she had been eagerly doodling on for the past hour. Lexa took the hint to return to her own part in their current project, penciling in detailed skeletons of calligraphy she would soon fill in once she was happy with the results. The brunette couldn’t help but smile wistfully as she took in some of Clarke’s work on the completed side of the canvas: doodles and shapes that complimented her own work perfectly, curling around Lexa’s letters and filling in the gaps with more detailed sketches. Everything was perfect in a way that made her think the blonde was pulling the images right out of her head, filling in little personalized divots in her calligraphy like it had been an orchestrated coincidence. Spicing up what she hadn’t quite known was missing the touch of a sharpie in a practiced hand…

Lexa decided she disagreed with Clarke on that statement quite adamantly. To just say the girl could ‘ _draw_ _’_ edged clear past the realm of modestly, headi5ng close to insulting. And she would make sure Clarke knew as much by the time they were done.

***

“I’m thinking…” Clarke drawled as she swung her legs off the edge of Lexa’s bed, tilting her head up like she was, in fact, _thinking_ , as Lexa waited patiently for her preference of pizza, a phone ready in hand. She was about to politely break in with a safe offer of pepperoni when the blonde decided to speak up. “Linguistics?” Clarke finished, a grin lighting up her features that had become quite familiar to the brunette over their weeks of working together.

Lexa blinked at the response, taking only a second to connect it to the topic that had been sporadically popping up over the last week, her own rare grin lighting up her face. It seemed the girl was more than a little persistent with her games… “Are we really still doing that?” Lexa asked good-naturedly with a small shake of her head, a little amused, as always, at the guess Clarke had provided for the brunette’s second major.

“Hey, I need to even the score here! You’re got me with the pre-med guess out of nowhere.” Clarke grumbled with narrowing, competitive eyes. “Still think you cheated…” The blonde all but whispered with a little pout, an expression that had grown on the brunette with alarming ease and intensity, and Lexa only smiled back in answer, deciding to turn to her phone to avoid staring at that pout for a bit longer than was appropriate. Or more likely, _far_ longer than appropriate…

Instead, she focused back on the promised pepperoni as her phone was picked up by the local pizza place of choice. Safe, simple pepperoni. And a vegetarian one in case Clarke somehow decided to stop being a meat-lover mid-slice…

“It’s a good guess… Still going off of your voice.” Clarke continued once the order was made, her pout having made way for a soft smile that surprised the brunette with its tenderness. A tenderness that did not seem too compatible with a discussion on college majors… “You do this thing with your Rs and your consonants… It’s kinda nice.” Clarke trailed as she explained, her smile extending to an equally soft grin before mellowing down again with some effort. “Like you’re bilingual or something.” The blonde shrugged and looked away with a forced air of nonchalance, the lightest tint coloring her cheeks, and Lexa figured she had been on the receiving end of more information than had been intended.

“I _am_ bilingual.” The brunette supplied, a little impressed that the blonde had been able to tell. She frowned as she took in the words more carefully, growing decidedly _unimpressed_ that she apparently had an accent she had been unaware of. “And what do you mean I do a thing with consonants?” Lexa asked suddenly, her voice coming out a bit too defensive for her liking. The brunette immediately cursed herself for letting vulnerability slip into her controlled voice, before deciding she didn’t quite care about the slip, if it happened to be Clarke’s ears on the other end of it.

“Like…” Clarke trailed, her face scrunching up rather cutely as she struggled to think of a way to elaborate to the confused brunette. The blonde eventually settled on a rather strange demonstration… “Say my name.” Clarke ordered suddenly, and Lexa had to pause for a few seconds in the hopes of further clarification, before realizing that this was all she was going to get.

 The brunette raised a brow at the younger girl, briefly considering the odds that she was walking into the butt of a joke, before deciding that Clarke might arguably be worth the risk... “Clarke.” Lexa obeyed softly, feeling rather anticlimactic with the ordinariness of her voice, her unimpressed brow still raised as she patiently waited for the blonde to reach the point of her presentation.

“See?” Clarke exclaimed with a baffling amount of enthusiasm, a happy grin lighting up her features that Lexa found annoyingly impossible not to smile back to. “That.” The blonde concluded with a satisfied glimmer in her eyes, the tenderness returning to her soft smile as her sapphire gaze locked with Lexa’s. “You do _that_...”

“Oh.” was all Lexa could think to say in the face of the most lovely tilt of rosy lips that adorned Clarke’s face, a smile she was sure should be illegal with the effect it had on her heart rate. Lexa hastily broke her gaze once she caught her eyes inspecting the smile a bit more intently, clearing her throat awkwardly to regain her sense of composure.

In the few weeks it had taken them to finish their group project, Clarke had somehow already managed to worm her way past the brunette’s usual lines of defense. Of course, Lexa wasn’t exactly displeased by it to say the least, but it was still more than a little unsettling to be have her control cracked in such a new, scary, _wonderful_ way. A lifetime of training put to shame with nothing but the lively sapphires of a feisty girl a year her junior…

 But there was a fire in Clarke that drew the brunette to her like a helpless moth, and Lexa couldn’t bring it in her to mourn the cracks in her walls. It was a vibrant flame of freedom and boldness and _life_ that got through to the brunette, a girl raised with all the structure and properness that came with having cutthroat lawyers for parents, one of which was on the cusp of getting a judgeship. It laughed in the face of the detailed 10-year timeline Lexa had spent most of her high-school life perfecting, instead seeming to raise the proverbial finger to the shackles of practicality and obligation, and caring little of the consequences.

The brunette found the other girl inspecting their finished canvas by the time she returned from her thoughts. A small smile met her lips when the blonde turned to catch her eyes, and she couldn’t recall being so at ease with someone she had spent only a few weeks. Or so deeply, desperately hoping to spend more.

“Clarke…” Lexa tried experimentally, articulating the name carefully to try to erase the apparent peculiarity in her pronunciation. Her cheeks burned as the mentioned blonde turned to her curiously, and she couldn’t help but feel a little bit like a child as she worked over the name again a bit more slowly. “Clarrrrke…” The brunette smiled, thinking she had managed to say the name a bit more _‘normally’_ that time, without quite hitting the “k” at the end…

“ _No_.” came the immediate response, and Lexa suddenly found the blonde glaring at her a bit petulantly, her confusingly simple denial coming out resolute and final. “No. Don’t change it.” Clarke ordered again, her eyes shining rather seriously with warning, and the girl just about resembled a toddler whose favorite toy had been put at risk. Lexa could only stare at the girl in shock, more than a little perplexed that the inflections of her voice had become an actual subject of discussion, let alone one Clarke apparently cared about quite a bit. “I’m serious Lexa,” The blonde warned, the hints of challenge returning to her narrowed eyes, “Don’t you _dare_ fucking change it…”

Lexa could only gaze at the girl for a few seconds, speechless and caught so utterly off guard by the sheer ferocity of her response to something so meaningless. And when the blonde showed no sign of backing down from her sudden demand, shock was replaced by another emotion entirely.

And she laughed.

She laughed in a way that seemed to spread a buzz of euphoria through her body, her cheeks happily aching with the stretch of her grin. Laughed like she couldn’t recall doing since her innocent youth, shaking to her very core with the strength of unadulterated chuckles. Lexa shook her head in tenderness and disbelief as she returned from her temporary loss of control, turning to see the hint of a familiar pout on the other girl’s lips, and creamy cheeks stained the most perfect shade of pink.

Yes, Lexa concluded with an adoring smile, Clarke Griffin was most definitely a very strange girl…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes about Flashbacks:
> 
>   * Just to keep things straight: Lexa: Class of 2008. Clarke: Class of 2009. The general time of separation (as far as we know) was around 2010. 
>   * Brown was a pretty arbitrary choice, though it helps that they pride themselves on having a crazy amount of course flexibly in terms of requirements. In case you were unaware, it's also an Ivy League school, so it's prestigious in its own right. 
>   * The narrative of this fic isn’t focused on Clexa in their college years, so they're not going to be the focus. They're just there to fill in the gaps, and provide insight into the characters. 
>   * I don't think I will be using a strict chronological order for the flashbacks (I'll be using them as they thematically fit in), but they probably will *tend* to be chronological. If things get messy though, I'll always debrief in the End Notes. 
> 

> 
> So there are still a lot of questions that keep popping up and not really so many answers just yet... I’d love to hear your theories, because we’re quickly approaching the point where educated guesses can be made (specifically regarding this chapter), and it always helps to know what you all might be wondering about.
> 
> Like, I dunno... What the fuck happened to Lexa in the span of 10 years? (A lot.) What’s up with Clarke’s mom? (A LOT.) Wait, Clarke was pre-med? (Eh, she doesn’t seem too into it.) What the fuck kind Art class were they taking? (This is Brown. All bets are off.)
> 
> *In the meantime, I have a question for you: How do you feel about chapters like these, where one of them (likely Clarke) might not directly show up for a little while? I have a tendency to try to balance things out, but it might be impractical in the long run...*


	5. Round Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa and Clare both struggle with important decisions lying ahead. With varying results, and vastly different coping strategies...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'll be cranking up the speed at which background will be revealed from this point. Now that Lexa knows, flashbacks and character reflections don't seem as forced or out of character. Also, I'm kinda just flipping off the original plan (as I so often do), and just going with what feels right. And it feels right to start giving a side of answers along with the infinite supply of questions... 
> 
> (But be warned, there are a lot of feelings that will happen in your brains…)
> 
> Quick Plot Changes/Recap:
> 
>   * So we're just ignoring how ludicrous it is to have someone transcribe/translate a foreign language, and just treating Trig as what it boils down to: a heavily distorted form of English which walks the thin line between being a dialect and an entirely new language. Like... pig latin for Ark's gangs/gang territories? Yeah? I'm going with it. 
>   * To get reaquainted with Clarke's shooting incident, which is referenced here, feel free to look back at Chapter 1.  
>  (RECAP because it's been like a month: Clarke and her partner are in some form of confrontation with an armed attacker, with Clarke ready to shoot them. Clarke freezes as she takes in the girl's Lexa-like features, and can't bring herself to shoot. She gets herself, and her partner shot. And no, that wasn't actually Lexa.) *Quick note of caution, Lexa is not the most reliable narrator when it comes to Clarke in this chapter.*
> 


Clarke breathed out a heavy sigh as she leaned back into her car seat, trying and failing to calm the vast range of emotions that had so far consisted of her first day at the Arkadia FBI. She cast a sideway glance at the bit of work she had decided to bring home: one of the few unclassified taps that she’d been cleared to take out of the department. It was something she had done on little more than an impulse, hoping to secure a few samples of Trig and get a better handle on the guttural tones of the strange language. The result of her efforts had been a worn out, black cassette tape about the size of her fist, currently resting in the mess of her open glove compartment.

A cassette tape that blue eyes were currently regarding like a time-bomb waiting to blow her to pieces…

It had taken a good amount of patience — and more than a few exasperated glares — to get Raven to cut the shit, stop being so painfully obtuse, and _just tell her_ what was going on, which was just about how the blonde had phrased the request. But the web of unnecessary riddles had unraveled a bit too late, and a tape labeled - _Jul-Sept 2012-_ had already been checked out for an Agent Griffin, before the blonde realized exactly what it was she had signed up for. And Clarke wished now that Raven had either come clean sooner, or not at all…

Or perhaps she wished she’d been a bit better at solving riddles…

Of course, a part of Clarke couldn’t help but be more than a little angry at her brunette coworker for being so needlessly silent and cryptic during their “coffee break” earlier that day. For forcing Clarke to _press_ the brunette insistently about so crucial a piece of information. It was the part of her brain that listened only to the untamed beating of her heart, and the adrenaline that had been coursing in her veins throughout her ride home, and now made her feel jittery in her seat.

But the other part of her, one that had set her father’s picture up by the bedside table the second she set foot in her new home, at least understood the girl’s reluctance. It didn’t take much imagination on her part to understand how sensitive a topic it was, and how difficult it must have been for Raven to talk about a dead — or killed — Agent in her department. Especially one she had known so closely. Frankly, it didn’t take any imagination at all…

But there were a few things that ranked above Clarke’s natural tendency to be considerate. And her desire to live a normal lifespan was clearly one of them.

The Agent sighed once again, this time to calm the incessant twitch of restlessness that always made its presence known in times of stress. And in one swift motion, Clarke made to grab at the cassette, and secured it safely in her coat pocket. She took only another second to check the safety of her gun, before resting it in her concealed holster and taking a deep breath as she abandoned the relative safety of her car.

It wasn’t a bad neighborhood at the worst of times, Clarke knew. Most areas in Central Arkadia weren’t. But she couldn’t really be faulted for being a little cautious at the present moment, as her last conversation with Raven continued to ring in her ears. Not when the last Agent who had taken up the task of tirelessly transcribing Trigedasleng, apparently coming close to basic translation, had been murdered in cold blood little less than a year ago. Quite likely by none other than the forest-colored gang who’s intricate tree the artist had been admiring just this morning, or so Raven had surmised.

Apparently, Trig was _“basically our version of the enigma machine. Except, you know. A bit smaller…”_ as Reyes had so succinctly put it. And Agent Blake’s deep, and fruitful, involvement with decoding the language had been threatening enough for even the more controlled gang, Trikru, to put a considerable price on the Agent’s head, and eventually separate it from the body. And while that usually seemed to be, much to Clarke’s mild horror, an _Azgeda_ trademark, the ensuing raid and destruction of most existing FBI transcripts was most certainly a Trikru M.O.

Espionage, savage killings, and a battle of both bullets and brains... It was all so much more than the Agent had been expecting from a town insignificant enough to be misspelled on most maps…

Sure, she’d had some idea going in, long before she had been briefed on Blake’s fate, that transcription was only a gateway to get to the real fruit of her labor. Only a means to the end of translating the cryptic language that painted the walls of Polis and Northern Arkadia. And she had even felt more or less comfortable with the idea of undertaking the task, backed up by her time shadowing legitimate decoders in Chicago, and working on many a case of sigils and graffiti markings.

But the stakes had now been turned up clear past the breaking point of the dial, and Murphy had managed to pull the rug out from under her, like the perfect tablecloth trick. And it seemed Clarke had been at least partially right in assuming that her current task unofficially labeled her more or less _expendable_. And when combined with both her ignorance, and experience hard to come by in the starved department, it had also labeled her an ideal candidate to succeed Blake…

A legacy she was about as eager to inherit as she was to see the inside of a gun barrel.

Clarke breathed a sigh of relief as she finally shut the door on the outside world, welcoming the illusion of safety triggered by the warmth of her new home. She hung her holster on a nearby clothes rack, and tossed the tape onto the living room sofa, deciding to deal with that disaster after a lengthy commemorative nap celebrating the lack of fresh bullet scars on her body. Though, Clarke thought as she trailed her eyes to her bedside clock, she was probably counting her chickens a few hours early…

She let herself fall back on her bed nonetheless, but not before retrieving her gun from the holster, and stowing it safely in the first drawer of her bedside table. Clarke felt her stomach stir at the reality of such an action… The fact that it was a legitimate, if a little premature, concern for her to be targeted by either of the gangs at this stage. After all, she had a mind to be aware of the ears of both Trikru and Azgeda that likely roamed the FBI building, wearing the same badge that rested in her wallet, but with a tint of either green or red. The sheer implausibility of securing an undercover defector without getting them killed within days was proof enough of the fact. That, and Raven had quite pointedly told her not to flaunt around her assignment, and just _‘tell them he has you filing some old shit’_.

Once again, advice that had made its way to her waiting ears too late to be at all useful.

Clarke felt her back crack unhealthily as she stretched out on the bed, and she let out a soft moan as the tension uncoiled itself from where it had curled up between her shoulder blades. The blonde sighed in relief, choosing to focus on the tiredness of her muscles instead of the bad decisions that no doubt awaited her on the living room couch. A lazy hand made to grab at her phone from where it had been tossed on the bedside table, hoping for something suitable to lull her stressed body to sleep. But the relatively content line of her lips immediately dipped into a frown as she took in the missed calls lighting up her lock screen, all on the other end of normal business hours. Clarke groaned when the name _-Marcus Kane-_ appeared at the top of the list, followed by a daunting _(5)_. At least her mother hadn’t called as well, seemingly having learned her lesson from the last few months of unanswered voicemails and blocked texts. Unless she was using Kane as a workaround…

Clarke decided to take the plunge anyway, knowing that Marcus, despite being her mother’s publicist, happened to be refreshingly respectful of Clarke’s boundaries. And she would be lying if the series of missed calls from the normally reserved man didn’t ring some alarms in her head. Her mind immediately turned to her old partner Jaha, and the blonde swallowed the emotion down her throat at the thought of what news she might receive about the Agent. Her best friend who, when she had last checked in on his comatose state, had been just in the midst of fighting one of the many complications that had continued to arise over the past year.

But it seemed as though she had discounted her mother’s insufferable persistence a bit too easily, as always, and the voice that greeted her on the voicemail was much higher pitched than the one she had been expecting…

“Clarke Eliza Griffin!” She heard her mother exclaim incredulously, and immediately rolled her eyes at the familiar theatrics. Only a handful of years ago, that voice would have been enough to have the girl submit to her mother with her tail tucked between her legs. But she had given up far too much, and far too many people, at the bequest of that voice over the years, with nothing in return but the promise of an eternity of never-ending demands.

“First of all, _for Christ’s sake_ can you please—” And that was enough for Clarke to press the delete button with an involuntary sigh of frustration, having heard more than enough to surmise the reason behind the mounting messages in her phone.

Of course Kane had blabbed to her mother about the reassignment… _Of course._ Clarke was hardly even sure why she had even opened up to the man in the first place, knowing how deep her mother’s claws sank into him, regardless of his own respect for the blonde. Clarke decided to skip to the last voicemail in the bunch, figuring the woman would hopefully have gotten to her point by then.

“Clarke —” And the blonde was surprised once again, this time with a voice deeper than the one she had been avoiding for the last year, and she couldn’t help a quick frown of confusion directed at her phone, wondering if the device was playing tricks on her. “Look, I’m really sorry about that…” Kane sighed on the other end, and Clarke couldn’t quite muster too much forgiveness for him after being re-familiarized so unexpectedly with her mother’s demanding voice. “I was talking about how I wished Jaha’s surgery could have been expedited by a day or so — Which, by the way, went great…” Clarke let out a soft sigh of relief at the words, feeling her body relax from an altogether different tension that tightened her muscles at the very mention of another surgery.

“—And then she started asking me why I’d say such a thing…” Kane continued to trail off, chuckling sheepishly, “And you know how she gets when she’s smelt blood, just about snatched my phone… Probably going to help us in the primaries to be honest…” Clarke only pursed her lips, hardly too keen to be kept informed of her mother’s continued thirst for power. “But I’m really sorry about that… You probably skipped most of them if I know you. And it’s not much you haven’t heard.” Kane mused, and she could hear the strain in her voice, because it was likely the same things _he_ wanted to lecture her about. The same lecture Clarke was confident she could recite by heart.

There was a small pause on the other end of the voice mail, tempting Clarke to just delete it before the relatively tender interaction could turn sour. But Kane was just a fraction of a second faster than her thumb… “I respect your decisions, Clarke, really…” Her mother’s right hand started, and the blonde quite easily decided she wasn’t much interested in the _but_ that would no doubt follow that statement, or the regurgitation of her mother’s words that would then be replayed back to her word for word, but in a much deeper voice.

Clarke sighed deeply, and let herself relax back into the bed, having retained nothing but a single fact from that entire arduous interaction.

Wells was ok. Wells was alive.

Clarke let the thought ring through her head for a few blissful seconds, and found a involuntary smile creep onto her lips in sheer emotional relief.

And though she knew a heartbeat without a soul would do nothing to absolve her, the knowledge that he had once again _pulled though_ was enough to calm the guilt that clawed at her chest at the thought of his fading vitals. And enough to comfort the selfish corner of her mind that dreaded the thought of her hands being bloodied with her best friend’s life…

She could still remembered being close to inseparable from him for just about the entire duration of her hospital stay, when the guilt had been at its freshest. Sitting by his side almost every day, trying to get as much time with him as nature would allow. Talking mindlessly about anything and everything she could think of, and pretending he could hear her words through the heavy veil of limitless slumber. She had visited him almost every week even as she began to recover, putting his favorite flowers by his bedside, and telling him funny stories about her day or sad ones about her life. Telling him things she’d never been able to in the years they had spent as a team, thick as proverbial thieves. Things she had always hoped he would someday be able to hear from her in earnest. Before the light in his eyes had been stolen by the same metal that had left an angry scar on her side…

Before Clarke, by wasting priceless seconds in paralysis, had all but stolen away his life.

The smile had faded from her lips by then, as Clarke refamiliarized herself with the emotions tied to that one day of her life, her first brush with something as untamed as _death._  Now forever immortalized in her FBI record as a failure...

And she found herself turning towards the photoframe set carefully by her bed, of another man who who had suffered at the hands of a bullet, and had lost. Her father, smiling warmly as he held a much smaller version of the blonde girl snugly in his arms, grinning at the chained FBI id that hung loosely from her neck and landed by her hips. Clarke’s fingers reached to softly touch their faces, and trailed down, as they often did, to that shiny gold badge that had eventually been her greatest hero’s undoing... She had decided that day that it would _not_ be hers.

But she was no fucking hero…

Clarke took in a deep breath to fuel her courage, and finally set her jaw with a stubbornness that might have made her mother proud, freeing herself from the inviting paradise of her bed in one swift motion. She grabbed the frame that had dutifully followed her to every dorm room and apartment through the last 15 years, and slung it under her arm as she maneuvered around the house for the rest of the supplies.

A handful of minutes saw a bottle of wine and a familiar frame set purposefully on the living room table, and a blonde staring thoughtfully at the harmless-looking object that still lay contently on the couch before her. But Clarke’s mind was made, and her wine glass already half filled as she picked up the player and tape that had so quickly grown to symbolize both a deadly burden and a significant crossroad. The click of the cassette sliding into place seemed to echo through the empty house, and it was all Clarke needed to banish the vestiges of doubt from her mind.

Oh, she’d give them something to write in her fucking record…

 

* * *

 

Lexa leaned against the edge of the vip balcony, one of the few secluded corners in The City of Light that was free of the booms of music and neon that flooded the rest of the bar behind her, though she could still feel faint vibrations of bass coming through the railing. The cool evening air, paired with the Scotch she could still taste on her lips, was doing its part in calming the storms of her mind. But as the brunette turned towards the familiar skyline of Central Arkadia, in lieu of the obnoxiously lavish lounge that lay behind her, she couldn’t help but notice the distinct lack of clouds painting the sky. As if the weather had chosen to behave today of all days just to spite her, and known to make the sky just a bit too _blue_ for her liking…

Tan fingers absentmindedly traced the white scars on the side of her wrists, rubbing incessantly at the rough tissue that had formed there nearly half a decade ago, as if trying to rub any evidence away before Clarke could see it.

Clarke…

Lexa swallowed forcefully and clenched her jaw, forcing herself to turn away from the blue that pierced her vision. She had yet to fully comprehend the emotions that burned inside her chest, let alone the messy web of thoughts that struggled to run through every one of the possible scenarios that could play out. And above all else, she had yet to adjust to the constant intrusion of that damned name after so many years of silence. A name that had managed to so easily flip her life on its head in less than a heartbeat.

She had thought of it before, of course. Had long ago daydreamed about possibly reuniting with the woman she considered the love of her life. But they had only ever been delusions concocted to keep her sane, all based in a world where she was still the same Lexa she had once been in Clarke’s company. They had been thoughts of a life devoid of the constant pain that had sunk its teeth into her skin over the years, a life that was just _theirs_. And she would sometimes close her eyes as a tiny blonde babe fed from her body, and cling to the illogical image of a smiling blue-eyed girl sitting next to her, cooing with abandon at the small creature in the brunette’s arms. And on the worst of days, which Lexa still struggled to remember, they were often also the only thought that kept her from hysterically yanking the child off like a parasite, and rushing to the closest sink to retch whatever still remained in her stomach...

Yes, she had thought of it before, a very long time ago. But never quite like this. Never this strange, very real, very _terrifying_ thought of simply… running into Clarke.

It all just about made the brunette’s hand itch to call for a refill, and Lexa could only struggle feebly in the face of the reality that continued to mercilessly sink in. A reality devoid of the glorified Clarke her mind had stitched together from the best of their time together. Or the not-Clarke and not-Lexa she had often imagined meeting in not-Arkadia, resembling them only in name and skin, and devoid of the scars that weighed them down in this world. No. It was just Clarke, and Lexa; as far removed from a fairy tale as they were from each other. It was _Agent Clarke Griffin_ , and the Heda she probably considered nothing more than a target at the shooting range _._

It was a Clarke whom she could hardly claim to know, having now spent twice as long apart as they had together, and who most definitely _did not_ know her. A Clarke who had apparently _… married_ sometime after their lives had ceased to intertwine, perhaps finding her other half in Collins, as fitting as that would be. Clarke who had finally become an Agent, following her father’s footsteps as she had so often yearned to do in college. Living proudly on the right side of the law, and fighting against those she considered the scum of the earth, which Lexa more than likely fell into…

Clarke, who had obviously moved on with another, and probably raised the perfect little nuclear family Lexa could never have given her. Who had continued to fight for her dreams against the controlling hand of her mother, against _life_ , and had won. Finally living the career of her dreams, with everything she had ever wanted…

Clarke, who likely spent the last decade on the sunny side of the world Lexa had been crushed underneath. Who was _not_ a single mother, and hadn’t been forced to starve for anything a day of her life. Who hadn’t had everything she loved ripped from her grasp with brutal casualty. Or been cornered into a life of violence and death, with responsibilities she wasn’t even close to ready for.

Clarke... Who probably didn’t know how it felt to stab a man to death, and gaze into his lifeless eyes until there was enough human paint to redecorate the walls.

Who wasn’t… broken. Not like _she_ was.

As if to accentuate her thoughts, Lexa’s betraying fingers continued to rub at her wrists until white scars had turned an aggressive red. And she knew quite clearly that it would be a lie to claim total ignorance about her feelings. She was aware that her entire body felt as though it was shaking with the truest forms of terror, and an adrenaline rush incessantly screamed at her to run as far away as her feet could take her. Even the mere thought that Anya might have made contact with the blonde before Lexa’s ixnay could have reached her, made the brunette itch to pack her bags and book the next flight out of the state, to hell with the fucking consequences.

Because meeting Clarke… _confronting_ Clarke, would mean coming face to face with the life that had been stolen from her all those years ago. Facing Lexa Woods, in all her _perfect_ glory, who had long since lost her claim on the brunette’s broken body. It would mean being the subject of a cruel game of _spot the difference,_ as sparkling blue eyes examined her like a map waiting to be read. And if there was one thing Lexa knew about Clarke, it was that she would ask. Everything; anything. She would ask without restraint or hesitation, because _Lexa Woods_ was not someone she was accustomed to handling with delicacy. Lexa Woods had never _needed_ to be handled delicately.

And asking would mean talking; about Lexa, about _Aden_ , and the eternity that had passed since they had last met. And the _scars_ , Lexa shuddered to realize; Clarke would ask about the scars. If not the ones on her torso and back, likely the ones that colored perfect circles around her wrists… Clarke would ask, and Lexa would have to answer. She would have to answer a question she had never been expected to answer. A question Anya had realized early in their friendship wasn’t to be approached with a ten foot pole, though she had likely been able to guess the most of it in the years she had spent looking after the brunette and miniature blonde. And Costia… Costia had asked once, and known by Lexa’s tight jaw and silent retreat not to ask again.

But Clarke would ask. Given the chance, she would even ask why her back was marked with even darker scars, her skin rough and blotchy even after years of healing. And Lexa… Lexa wouldn’t be able to answer. Not without fear of breaking all over again.

Lexa took in the deepest breath her lungs could hold, comforted by the coolness in her chest, and decided that her dizzying web of routes was actually quite simple. On one side lay blue eyes, once the sole source of strength for her shattered spirit, along with the promised suffering of reliving every one of the scars that had marked her body in the last seven years. And on the other side lay _ignorance_ , and the familiar comfort of her imperfect life, devoid of blue eyes save for the occasional stranger, and lacking a mouth daring enough to ask her of her past…

Lexa shot one last look to the endless sky that spread around her, enveloping her, and told herself with a tense jaw that the color was decidedly overrated…

She was not very convincing. But she was desperate enough for it to hardly matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background/Clarification:
> 
>   * Northern Ark is the subsection of Ark that I’ve labeled as the Azgeda territory. I’m not sure if they had a name for that in the show, but if there is one, just let me know. 
>   * Abby is indeed a politician, and has been one for the last 15 or so years. This was hopefully not to big a jump to make with some of the exposition of this chapter, but I wanted to make it clear anyway. Also, she's kind of an ass, if that wasn't clear too. 
>   * The scars on Lexa’s wrists are **not** self-inflicted. Again, I’m hoping I made that clear by mentioning that they were mostly on the side of her wrist, and not the inside of her wrist. This fic does get dark, but that is not an area I’m going to be exploring. 
>   * When Lexa goes on that little tirade about Clarke probably having the perfect life, she might come off as a little judgy, but that’s really not what’s going on. It’s more of a self-deprecating tirade directed at herself. I’m specifically talking about “hadn’t starved for anything a day of her life”. Also, if you’re wondering how to interpret that line, it is *very* literal.
> 

> 
> ***Both this and the upcoming chapters should probably give you an idea of how dark things will get (thought it’s not always going to be like that, of course). But this is definitely a good time to look back at some of warnings I put in the first chapter (and the warning on this fic) before we really get into shit.***
> 
> That being said, I hope you stick around as the curtains begin to be lifted. This chapter is the first of what I consider a three-part finale to the miniature Lexa-arc that started in Ch3, which has some of the main scenes responsible for starting this project. 
> 
> That's the plan, at least. Hopefully my middle finger will behave...


	6. (First) Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Clarke is slightly perturbed by the current use of her time (and her wine). Until she isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, long time no see :) 
> 
> This one was a monster, so I split it in two to make it a bit more manageable. While the real heavy stuff isn’t till CH7, this chapter also features a good bit of meat. Some revelations, and many questions. 
> 
> The good part of splitting is that Ch7 is already done, but I'm going to try to get ahead on Ch8 before I post it. Feel free to kick my ass if I take too long again.
> 
> Important Notes:
> 
>   * The rating on this story has now been bumped up to an M. I just grew a little uncomfortable with keeping it T with some of the mature themes of the story. I know M tends to go hand in hand with the sexy-times, but that’s not something I write often. Now that I have the room to maneuver, there *might* be some scenes that border between T and M, but don’t hold out too much hope. 
>   * I think I mentioned this before as well, but Lexa has a whole lot of shit she has been forced to get through that has nothing to do with Clarke. 
> 

> 
> Other worthless ramblings:
> 
>   * The phone tap in this chapter Is meant to be from a landline. So we’ll just have to collectively pretend that those archaic machines are still a thing that exist. 
>   * Also, ‘Ahn’ is my shortening of Anya, which is the only objectively correct name because that’s how I’ve been saying it in my Buffyverse fics and fuck you I’m not changing it so get outta here with that ‘An’ shit! (go watch Buffy and see the error of your ways)  
> 
> 

> 
> (Unbetaed, so if you catch any typos I missed, feel free to let me know)

It took Clarke less than an hour to realize just why the tape in her possession had been labeled “unclassified”, and why it had been so effortless to check out of the building. The _‘Jul-Sept 2012’_ tape she had been handling like a live bomb ever since she had left her department, the one her shaking hands had clicked into the cassette player after accepting the target that it put on her head—

“ _Fuck off, Linc! She_ _’s half my fucking age. I’m not some sex-maniac to go screwing every man and woman I see._ ”

—was more than a little fucking anticlimactic…

Clarke sighed in exhaustion, wondering what she had done to deserve this strange form of torture. She was through nearly a quarter of this damned tape by now, her bottle of wine now dangerously close to being empty, and nearly all of it had been devoid of any mention of Trig and Trikru. Featuring nothing but the same two voices, engaging in the same damn household arguments with the same stupid misunderstandings. Always ending the phone call with a “you doing alright?” or “do you need money?” and a mask of stoicism that concealed obvious worry. Clarke had guessed, after hearing a handful of calls following this format, that these two were likely siblings, or something to the effect. Because god knows no two people who grind each other’s gears so easily should ever be made to interact nearly as regularly as these two did.

Sure, it had been amusing in the beginning. Being a fly on the wall of this bizarre house, listening in on the equally strange man and woman that could hardly stop arguing for long enough to grumble to one another that they loved them. It had seemed almost like a radio soap opera equal parts silly and mundane, pairing perfectly with her cheap wine and sore body. But the novelty had been quick to wear off, as it dawned on her how utterly fucking stupid it was that she, a Federal Agent of the United States, was listening to what amounted to nothing more than fucking gossip tape. It was replaced instead by mounting levels of frustration at the futility of her current exercise, leaving Clarke to wonder, not for the first time, why in the world this tape had been kept in the first place if it had _no. fucking. Trig._

But Agent Clarke Griffin was nothing if not a determined, stubborn son of a bitch. And she was intent on geting something worth her time out of this fucking tape, so help her god…

“ _Jesus, Ahn._ ” The man on the line, Linc, was chuckling to the woman, and after hours of hearing their voices, Clarke could just about hear the grin in his without even trying. “ _I was just joking with you. It_ _’s just kinda weird, y’know? Keeping someone like that around for no reason…_ ” He trailed, his tone getting a bit more serious. “ _Is she even paying rent, Ahn?_ _”_

Clarke, only half-listening, and likely approaching being half-drunk, felt more than a little lost by this unexpected turn in their usual, nonsense, arguments. The discovery that this lady may have a housemate — that another person had access to her tapped landline — was news to her, and Clarke’s slightly tipsy mind couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed by this stranger who’s life had grown to become uncomfortably familiar in the past hour. She stretched towards the thick file that lay on the coffee table, nearly slipping off the couch in her attempt, and began to skim through the pages to check for a second occupant.

“ _Someone like that_?” The woman — Anya Forrester, according to the file — was asking in the background, her tone shifting to become surprisingly serious. “ _And what exactly is,_ _‘someone like that’, Lincoln?_ ” Clarke, still skimming the Demographics & Relevant Persons section of the file for a second name, didn’t miss the undercurrent of warning that accompanied those words. The Agent hummed curiously as she thumbed through the file a final time, coming up empty on any hints of a name besides the one that was currently speaking. She supposed it was likely the wine in her system making its presence known, but she couldn’t quite suppress the spark of interest that jerked her back into a mild state of attention. She just hoped this one would last long enough to tide her through the night.

“ _I just meant_ _… y’know._ ” Lincoln struggled, seemingly taken aback by the edge that had appeared in the woman’s voice. He seemed to mull it over for a few breaths when Anya prodded him to continue, before deciding to choose his battles for another time. “ _So she_ _’s not paying rent, then._ ” He concluded instead, the frown of disapproval clear in his voice.

“ _I don_ _’t really think that’s any of your fucking business._ ” Anya answered calmly, and Clarke brows rose nearly an inch up her face in surprise. She had spend the last hour hearing this woman do almost nothing but curse and yell and growl at this boy, but it had all been with a voice that seemed aggressive only to outsiders. A voice that, after one had the pleasure of listening to it for fucking hours, made it clear with its hidden warmth if the woman was teasing, or worried, or needlessly irritated. Or, as in this case, a voice that made it clear with its prickly delivery that it was _exactly_ as aggressive as it seemed. Clarke wondered if she had reached the first potentially important conversation, even in the most liberal sense of what classified as _important_ , before deciding that her alcohol consumption had likely made that definition far too broad to be enforceable…

So, no. She was likely still wasting her time, and possibly her sanity. Both of which were currently in alarmingly short supply.

“ _Hey, I_ _’m just saying._ ” Lincoln was quick to reply in defense, likely realizing how he might have unintentionally struck a cord. “ _It_ _’s a stranger you picked up off the streets, Ahn. And she’s been with you for how long now?_ ” He pressed, his defensiveness making way for serious concern, and he sighed at the lack of answer from the other woman. The cogs in Clarke’s mind, albeit sluggish after the lingering effects of the night, continued to turn inquisitively with each new development, wondering how this was the first she was hearing of this in the past month of recorded calls.

“ _I don_ _’t want your kindness being abused, y’know?”_ Lincoln continued, his voice growing softer and more persuasive with every word, as if sensing a matching softness of Anya’s previously harsh visage. “ _It_ _’s been a couple months at least. And she’s just gotta start pulling her weight at some point, that’s all I’m saying_." Clarke could almost hear the shrug that likely accompanied his words, and she couldn’t help but wonder where this soft-spoken side of this boy had been hiding in the past hour or so of juvenile arguments… “ _I didn_ _’t mean to… offend you, or whatever the fuck just happened.”_

Anya’s answering sigh lasted long enough for Clarke to gather supplies for a few impromptu notes, and the silence following it even allowed for the blonde to take another sip of her wine before the conversation could continue. “ _Just— Just don_ _’t, ok?_ ” Anya murmured into the phone, and Clarke could hear her voice dim when she raised a hand to rub at the bridge of her nose, or possibly her temple. “ _She_ _’s not in a good place right now, and there’s a lot of other shit going on._ ” She sighed, and Clarke felt her heart soften slightly for this strange woman, even as the cynical part of her still struggled to reconcile her apparent selflessness with the known brutality reflected in her criminal record. “ _We_ _’ll figure it out…_ ” Anya trailed, her voice sounding just as lost as she seemed to be, “ **I** **’ll** _figure it out._ ”

Lincoln let the words linger in the air for a few breaths, letting it sink in that this did not seem to be a subject Anya was keen to budge on. _“Whatever, Anya.”_ He surrendered with a sigh of his own, though concern still colored his voice, _“As long as you’re sure it’s not one of those Azgeda cronies out to fuck you over or whatever…”_

Clarke’s fingers continued to fly along her notepad in a barely-legible scrawl, though she knew hardly any of this was new information. It wasn’t much of a revelation for anyone in Polis to be involved in the Azgeda-Trikru conflicts, in fact, it was more of an anomaly to see otherwise. As violent and gruesome as gangs were, Clarke knew how they often became a shelter of sorts for the communities they supported around them. She had seen more than enough evidence of it after her time in Chicago. How even the worst of them made it a point to look out for their own, offering protection and solidarity for one another in a world that had otherwise given up on them. She could almost bring herself to respect it, if it wasn’t for small problems like organized crime and drug rings.

 _“She’s not,”_ Anya assured Lincoln, her voice hard as if daring him to claim otherwise, _“And I’m not gonna get her involved with the shit-show Titus runs either, if that’s what you’re getting at.”_ She all but growled under her breath. By the sound of Lincoln’s subsequent sigh of frustration, Clarke had a feeling she had been close to the mark.

 _“I just hope you know what you’re doing, is all,”_ He sighed, though it sounded like he had just about given up on arguing with the woman, _“I know that asshole hardly pays you enough for one, even with all the shit you do,”_ He reasoned, _“You can’t expect to just start making enough for two, if that’s what your plan is…”_

A tired sigh was heard on the other side of the line, and Clarke had a feeling the words has struck something in the woman. _“It’s three now,”_ was all Anya murmured, her voice muffled as she ran a hand down her face. _“It’s been a long fucking day, Linc... Can we talk about this some other time?”_ She sighed, continuing as Lincoln opened his mouth to argue, _“Everything’s okay right now,”_ She assured him, though she hardly sounded convinced herself, _“I’m making it stretch, but no one’s starving, ok? Just… let me sort this out.”_

Clarke let the tape continue to the next call as she finished jotting down notes, turning down the volume to collect her thoughts. Aside from her most recent scribbles, she’d taken a few other notes near the start of this endeavor, all things that were only marginally relevant, but better than nothing. She eyed them over now, her lightly buzzed mind trying to piece together what she had gathered thus far with what she already knew from the FBI briefs she had been laboring through most of her workday.

The name attached to this tap was one Anya Forrester (39), a prominent POI in the Trikru circle, and the main reason Clarke had chosen this tape in the first place. Her file featured a grisly criminal record, and a suspected two decade long involvement with the gang wars tearing the city apart, neither of which were necessarily noteworthy feats in Arkadia.

Instead, what made her especially worthy of attention was her suspected involvement in the notorious Trikru upset, which had shaken Arkadia’s underbelly just a few years prior. It had been a violent shuffle of power which had seen Titus dethroned for a new leader, and had signaled a major shift in the direction of the group. They had mellowed down significantly in the years since, gradually shifting their focus from hard drugs to alternate sources of revenue, and solidifying the ideological divide between Azgeda and Trikru. And yet, as the entirety of the Trikru group was turned on its head, Anya Forrester had curiously remained a constant. If anything, she had come out the other end significantly more powerful than she had been before, hinting at her potential ties to the current, elusive “Heda” that had been leading them the past few years.

Clarke kept in mind, however, that much of the information found in these briefs was largely made of conjecture. Anything more recent than 2013 — which marked the end of their phone tap operation, but was still a year prior to the upset — was glued together from whatever scraps of intel they could gather, using educated guesswork to fill in the gaps. And even when Arkadia’s FBI department wasn’t as starved for intel and loyal staff, Clarke knew that they had given up on doing anything more than containing the two gangs that wrecked the city. A city which had come to have a ridiculous case of Stockholm syndrome, and had long since been deemed a lost cause.

But Clarke wasn’t used to lost causes. Chicago, as fucked as it got down south, had never been a lost cause. Not to her at least, and definitely not to her father. And even now, stuck in a small town where gang loyalties permeated all parts of life, she was no more willing to add that word to her vocabulary. She was even less willing to let the identity of this “Heda” slide by uninvestigated, while the rest of her department seemed content to tunnel vision on the notorious Azgeda leader, Antonia Queen, in the futile attempt to bring her down, or sow the seeds for another upset. It didn’t quite matter if Nia was considered a greater threat to the city’s security — the new Heda having a surprisingly philanthropic history, or as philanthropic as a gang lord could be — they were both still a cancer to the city that needed to be ripped out for any hope of rebuilding…

Clarke sighed, tossing her notes aside and stretching along her moderately uncomfortable sofa. “What a fucking mess…” She chuckled, finding it all at least a little amusing, if ridiculously morbid. To think her day had started with worrying about coffee, to now being half-drunk on cheap wine and contemplating ways to bring down a gang that had nonchalantly murdered the last agent that had gotten even moderately close. The agent who’s job she was now taking over like a lamb to the slaughter. As if this were some twisted reenactment of the ring, and she had just seven days left to live now that she’s started the tapes…

Oh, right. She’d almost forgotten about the fucking tape.

The tape that was so ridiculously ridiculous that it seemed to be the perfect footnote to her first day in Arkadia. The tape that had cost her about an hour of her limited time in this world, in return for fucking gossip, and the obvious realization that 2012 Anya Forrester was a _nobody_ compared to her current self, and held absolutely no information — or Trig — worthy of extracting at the time of these taps.

Sure, the notion of the known criminal picking up a random housemate off the streets, and seeming quite intent on keeping her _out_ of the gang, was… _weird._ But that was all it was. Fucking _weird_ , compared to the fucking _terrifying_ that was everything else in this goddamn city.

Clarke groaned in frustration as she digested that thought, wondering how a small town like this could somehow feel more terrifying and dangerous than the worse streets of Chicago. The momentary silence of her mind brought to her attention an entirely unexpected sound softly echoing though her apartment, the last thing she expected to hear after her roller-coaster of a day.

The unmistakable, signature sound of a crying baby…

Clarke frowned in mild confusion as she focused on the strange sound. No, that didn’t quite seem right. The walls in her apartment weren’t nearly thin enough for a baby’s cries — or, rather, a baby’s _wails_ — to come through with such clarity. Clarity… but with hints of a signature graininess she had heard a million times that day.

Clarke’s eyes widened, and she turned to the casette player she had left running in search for an answer. And surely, she realized as the strange cries filled the room once she raised the volume, an answer she had clearly found, if in the most unexpected of places. She had yet to hear the sound of a child coming from Anya’s house, and there were no records of her having any children to speak of. That being so, even more curious was the fact that the incessant sound was being all but ignored for the sake of a phone call… Curious, and concerning.

The blonde regarded the player with a small frown of concern and confusion, waiting for someone to get off the goddamn phone and calm the kid down. But the rhythmic beep of the attempted call was as incessant as the baby’s cries, and just as Clarke had begun to conclude that it was an accidental speed-dial, the sound of another voice joined the cacophony of sounds in her apartment. A woman, Clarke gathered, taking quick, sharp breaths that, even to her untrained ear, signaled the start of an upcoming panic attack. Rather than providing clarity, the new information only left Clarke even more confused about what the fuck was going on in this house. And even more concerned.

Clarke stared at the player with furrowed brows, growing more agitated herself as the woman’s ragged breaths grew more and more uncontrolled, now on the edge of hyperventilating. Her head rattled to comprehend what might be happening on the other end of the recording. Had the house been raided? Was there a hostage situation? The location of this tap fell squarely in the Trikru territory of Polis, specifically Northern Polis, which was an especially violent edge of the region crossing into Azgeda territory. A break in was possible, if not a common occurrence, but Anya hardly seemed like the ideal candidate. Not only that, but the shallow breaths she heard on the line sounded nothing like what she had heard of Anya’s gruff voice…

Clarke’s contemplation was interrupted as she heard a soft whimper sliding into the panicked hyperventilation, and she bit her lip hard at the sheer helplessness coming from that voice. The stranger — quite likely Anya’s mystery ‘housemate’ — was in a full-blown panic attack now, and Clarke clenched her jaw at the sounds as she struggled to just turn off the player altogether. With no signs of an intruder to indicate otherwise, she could only guess that this call — and panic attack — were not in spite of, but likely _because of_ , the inconsolable baby in the background. Clarke gave up on baring any more of this upsetting scene as the woman’s breathing grew hoarse form hyperventilating, reaching her hand to stop the tape before it got any worse. This, the sound of nothing but pain and panic coming from another person’s breakdown, was somehow almost _worse_ than the alternative of a simple break-in.

But her hand had only just touched the pause button when the constant beep of the phone line came to an abrupt end, replaced by Anya’s distracted _“What?”_ on the other end. Clarke’s finger hesitated on the button, her suspicions about the stranger’s identity now confirmed. And despite her earlier reservations, the agent couldn’t quite help her curiosity getting the best of her, listening with attention as she was finally introduced to the mystery housemate she’d been so curious about…

 _“A—”_ Clarke heard the whisper get stuck in the stranger’s throat, as she struggled to lubricate her dry mouth after nearly a minute of hyperventilating, _“Ahn…”_ She heard the desperate plea come out, in a voice that was far from a stranger to her after so many years. And all in one second, the blonde felt the air in her lungs turn into concrete, felt the whole world around her freeze, only to begin furiously spinning all at once as Anya replied—

_“Lexa?”_

* * *

  _April 2006 — 11 Years Ago_

Clarke had never quite considered herself a planning kind of person, for lack of a better word. She supposed that was one of the things that had drawn her to the strange brunette that now ruled over most of her thoughts. Lexa, with her stupid color coded calendars, and her insane 10-year plan, and that fucking adorable pout she got when there was a deviation from her meticulous schedule. That stupid, lovable, fucking pout that Clarke could never really resist kissing off… And that dumb, warm, dopey glint in her eyes when she told the blonde that her 10-year plan was always “adjustable” for the inclusion of another person…  (She remembered Lexa’s lips tasting like the pizza they’d just shared, too distracted by the buzz of happiness in her chest to really care.)

But Clarke… was not the best at planning. It had hardly seemed to  matter all too much in her daily life. She was never late and rarely crammed, and she had the perfect work ethic drilled into her brain thanks to her mother. And when it came to the daily trudge of making it through an Ivy, with no plans of doing anything beyond the necessary, that was all she really needed.

Except for the fact that she, Clarke Griffin, was now… _dating_. Clarke bit her lip at that uneasily, still getting used to how the thought sounded in her head. _Dating._ It was such a big word for what she and Lexa were doing, one that made Clarke’s stomach twist nervously, even as she had now begun to accept it. And yet, it was obvious to her from Lexa’s slight stutter whenever she introduced Clarke as a ‘friend’, that the brunette still yearned to have something bigger with her. Something more stable, with the promise of commitment that she could already see in Lexa’s eyes. Something _terrifying_. And something Clarke was definitely _not_ ready for.

She had spent most of the previous night with that thought, her mind betraying her as she conjured up possible scenarios in which Lexa — beautiful, wholesome, too-good Lexa — laid her heart out in a gentle offering for Clarke to accept. She imagined the word ‘girlfriend’ hanging in the air as a heavy question, and green eyes full of promise and vulnerability as they waited for an answer. Even the thought of it was enough to get Clarke halfway to a panic attack…

Clarke groaned into her hands, dimly aware that she was likely messing up her newly applied make-up in doing so.

She was so _screwed._

It was hardly a new realization. It struck her every time the butterflies in her stomach made their presence known; every time she caught herself entranced by the brunette that threatened to turn her life upside down; and every time she felt drunk on the taste of Lexa’s lips, or her smile, or her everything. It had struck her again at the networking gala her mother had dragged her to over spring break, when Abby introduced her to one of the many smug-looking boys that touted their silver spoon upbringing like a badge of honor. Her mother had looked at her meaningfully, with a glare that told her that this was likely one of her donor’s sons, and that Clarke was expected to make a good impression for the sake of her political career. And when he had tried to kiss her, for no other reason than the thought that she would _let_ him, Clarke had abided by her mother’s wishes, and made sure the slap on his face left a good, bright impression of exactly what she thought of him.

Her mother had been far from pleased, of course, testing the limits of Clarke’s sanity with incessant shouting matches as she often did. But all Clarke had cared about was how even the thought of the boy’s lips near her made her shudder in disgust, and wish for Lexa’s warm arms to envelop her like a cleansing shower…

Hence the conclusion: she was _screwed_.

The blonde took a second to compose herself, taking deep breaths and pretending the tight ball of anxiety in the pit of her stomach was being exhaled along with them. If there was anything Clarke Griffin had gotten good at after over 19 years of practice, it was ignoring the near-constant, nauseating feeling in her stomach that reminded her of her life’s problems, and the looming presence of her mother that followed her regardless of how far she ran from home. Both of which, most of the time, amounted to much the same thing.

Clarke took a few moments to reconstruct the locked box in her head, shoving away all thoughts of her mother, and the mess that was Clarke’s life. It helped about as much as imaginary boxes could, but it was enough to shift her focus to fixing the smudges of make-up that had now appeared on her face. She looked herself over in the full-length mirror, taking in the baby blue off-the-shoulder dress she had worn for her date, and tried to ignore the fact that this was the first truly “fancy” date of her and Lexa’s two month long whatever-they-were-doing (relationship?). While she was at it, she also pointedly ignored how such a locale would be the perfect opportunity for the brunette to pop the question of commitment, which had been plainly written in her eyes for weeks.

No, Clarke Griffin was very adamant to not think about either of those things, and she would be happy to use the Griffin-branded stubbornness trait to achieve that goal if she had to.

Instead, Clarke focused on a critical once-over of herself in the mirror, making a few touch ups just to have something to do. She focused on taking the steps down from her floor one at a time, being careful not to take a wrong step on her least-favorite (but most flattering) heels. She focused on her upcoming History paper, and how she would likely need to spend the rest of the weekend on it, even if she wanted nothing more than to spend that time furiously making-out with a certain brunette.

And when she finally made it down to the dorm lobby — anxiety still balled up in the pit of her stomach — and saw her goddess of a date clad in a shapely green halter dress, with her hair in a perfect messy bun and the occasional brown locks framing her face… Looking so cruelly, effortlessly beautiful…

It was all Clarke could do to focus on just _breathing._

She watched hints of a smile spread on plump lips the second her eyes met green, and felt as though her heart had begun to tap dance. Clarke’s feet walked closer with a mind of their own, and it was almost as if she were a deer in headlights, stuck on a collision course towards her realization of her unshakable feelings for this woman, and the consequences therein. But tonight, like she did every other night, she told the deer to shut it and scurry off to let her enjoy another rare night of happiness. All the other shit, she decided, was for tomorrow’s Clarke to deal with…

“Hey,” Clarke smiled softly as she approached the other girl, too far gone in her appreciation of her date to be bothered with hiding her excitement. Excitement was acceptable, she was sure. Friends often got excited about other friends, even if their eyes didn’t glue to each other’s bodies like theirs did.

“Hello, Clarke,” Lexa greeted back, her answering smile shining in her eyes more than her lips. Clarke’s grin widened to a smirk when she caught green eyes trailing down the length of her dress, before snapping back to hers a bit guiltily. “You look… astounding.” Her date murmured softly, and Clarke couldn’t help but flush slightly, wondering how this girl could make a compliment that simple sound like it was the only truth in the universe.

The answering compliment forming on Clarke’s lips — because, god, Lexa always cleaned up so ridiculously nice — was interrupted by the pointed clearing of a throat, promptly breaking the two from their bubble of mutual affection. Clarke turned to the source of the sound, a bit taken aback by the intrusion, to find a tall, dark haired boy standing next to — and frankly a bit too _close_ to — her date. His frown and set jaw seemed to have an air of indignance, and Clarke guessed he had been keeping Lexa company while she waited, and was probably a bit offended for being ignored by their ridiculous tunnel vision. For a second she felt bad, ready to frame an apology, but there seemed to be an edge to his gaze that wanted to burn a hole through her head, and his body was angled towards Lexa in a possessive way that made her hair stand up in attention.

Fuck the apology. He was _definitely_ standing too close to her date.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lexa apologized with an embarrassed tint to her cheeks, seemingly oblivious to the cool anger the man was levying at Clarke for interrupting them. “This is Cage,” Lexa introduced with a light smile, “he’s in my Modern Political Theory class,” Clarke nodded at the man for the sake of civility, and saw her gesture returned with a well-mannered smile that did not reach his eyes. “Cage, this is my friend Clarke.”

Something in Clarke couldn’t help but bristle at the word _friend_ , but she wasn’t sure she had a right to feel that way when she had been dreading the alternative not ten minutes ago. Still, there was something about this Cage’s body language that was setting her off, even as he extended a friendly hand forward for a hello, perfectly polite features replacing his earlier frown of annoyance. And even as Clarke shook his hand with equal politeness, though probably more tightly than necessary, something in the tense air between them made the stupid animal brain inside her growl ‘ _mine_ _’_ in her head. Which was more than a little silly, because Lexa was Lexa, and she didn’t belong to anyone but herself.

“Nice to meet you, Clarke. I’m surprised we’ve never met, I would’ve remembered a face like yours.” Cage smiled, seemingly unaffected by whatever non-verbal communication had transpired between them. If anything, Clarke observed carefully, he seemed to have an air of smugness about him as he took in both of their outfits. Clarke couldn’t help but feel uncomfortably exposed with her eyes on him, suppressing a growl when his gaze stuck to Lexa’s dress a bit longer than Clarke was happy with. “You ladies look dressed for some fun tonight” He smiled ‘charmingly’ as he gestured towards their dresses, “I’m sure I could help out with that.” The little curve in his smile told her he was likely compiling a list of frat parties he would be more than ecstatic to invite them to.

“We are, actually.” Clarke answered smoothly without missing a beat. Dark eyes turned back to hers inquisitively, and though the bad vibes emanating from Cage had started to lessen, Clarke was hoping to get some things straight with him just in case. Primary among them, the fact that her girl was _not_ straight, and that she was very much taken. “We’re going on a date. Together… As dates.” She elaborated with what she hoped was a polite smile. “We’re dating.” She finished with a little hand gesture between Lexa and herself. She could just about feel Lexa’s confused gaze flicking between the two of them, imagining her brows furrowing as she tried to make sense of the slightly tense environment.

Cage’s eyes widened in surprise, and there was a flicker of emotion in them that made Clarke feel much more confident in her suspicions, even if that didn’t make her feel any better about them. His lips tightened around a fake smile, jaw clenching as he muttered a little, “Oh.” For a second, Clarke caught him balling his hand into a fist, which, combined with the fire in his eyes, made her consider the possibility that she was about to be punched in the face. But the fist loosened, and Cage’s smile slowly returned to full power as he regarded her with what he probably considered his most charming look.

“I’m sorry,” He smiled well-manneredly, and Clarke got the feeling the words couldn’t be farther from the truth. “I suppose I shouldn’t keep you from your conquests, then, Lexa.” Cage chuckled with a hint of a smirk, his cunning eyes flickering from Lexa to herself. Clarke couldn’t help but cringe at the ugly word, feeling it ignite a flicker of anger in her, though not at the person Cage was likely intending. For him to think he could _insinuate_ that Lexa — _her_ Lexa, the sweet Lexa who still used words like ‘courting’ non-ironically, and brought her delicately arranged flowers with cheesy notes attached — _her_ Lexa could ever be the kind of womanizing degenerate that would think to classify Clarke as a _conquest_ …

 _Buckle up motherfucker,_ Clarke growled internally, _you_ _’re about to find out what it’s like to start a war with a fucking Griffin._

“Cage, please.” Lexa admonished sternly, and Clarke felt the anger in her ebbing slightly at the affronted look in Lexa’s eyes, even though she looked almost resigned about his behavior. “Don’t mind his words.” She smiled at Clarke, her eyes clearly concerned she would take him seriously, but calming once her answering smile made it clear that she didn’t. “Cage tends to be unreasonable at the best of times…” She chuckled half-heartedly, as if considering the man’s personality a necessary evil she had grown accustomed to.

“Right…” Cage answered with a wavering smile, his eyes trained on Clarke as the faux friendliness began to disappear from his features. Clarke returned his stare with a hard glare, making it quite clear that she was on to his shit, and that he had sounded the trumpets of a war he’d soon regret. “Well then, Clarke.” He smiled politely after another second, once again recomposing himself as if nothing were afoul in the air between them, “I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then.” He presented the unlikely and unwanted offer, before hesitating as he regarded Lexa with a wolfish grin, “Or, well. I guess I shouldn’t make that promise for you, huh?” He smirked, chuckling as Lexa just cast him a slightly exasperated look of _‘cut the shit’_ , though likely with less swearing. “I’ll catch you tomorrow, Woods.” He smiled, and Clarke almost thought it sounded a bit less like a goodbye, and more like a promise.

“You’re telling me that guy got into a fucking Ivy?” Clarke growled as she watched Cage head off to make the already shitty frat parties worse with his very presence, feeling legitimately offended that Brown could think to let this guy within a five mile radius of campus. Clarke turned to Lexa for a serious answer — because holy shit did they forget to check for “dickhead” in his interview? — only to see her date regarding her with rather amused eyes. “What?” Clarke asked is a slightly affronted tone, “I worked my ass off to get here, and they let shit-heads like that in?”

“He thankfully makes up in intelligent what he lacks in tact. Though, of course, the tact is quite clearly nonexistent.” Lexa chuckled with a shake of her head, turning to her with still-amused eyes, as if Cage’s qualifications were the furthest thing on her mind. “But, Clarke, just to check…” She trailed off, a small grin making a rare presence on her lips, “You’re aware that I’m a 6 on the kinsey scale, right?” Lexa asked, amusement and tenderness dancing in her eyes as her grin widened.

“Oh, shut up.” Clarke grumbled through a soft blush, embarrassed to have been caught in her obvious pissing match with the other man, even if it was entirely justified. “He was just being a creep...”

“He was inviting us to a party…” Lexa shrugged, struggling to extend her typically endless patience and politeness, which usually never failed to make Clarke’s heart skip, to an asshole like Cage. This time, however, the fact that her date was affording such kindness to an undeserving jerk only made Clarke grit her teeth in frustration. “I seem to recall you liking those.” Lexa commented lightheartedly with a raised brow, and although the small tilt of her lips made it clear she was joking, her seemingly nonchalant acceptance of his attitude just about felt like the last straw.

“Why are you taking his side?” Clarke growled in accusation, her collective anger from the last few minutes now coming to a boil, though admittedly directed at the wrong person. She regretted the words almost immediately when Lexa recoiled from the harsh tone, but her stubbornness wouldn’t allow her to take the words back just yet.

“I never—” Lexa faltered, obviously surprised by the unexpected outburst, but attempting to reassure her blonde date with a disarming smile. “There aren’t any sides here, Clarke.” She explained softly, one of her hands searching for Clarke’s before intertwining their fingers. “I’ve known Cage for a while. We were hallmates freshman year, and he always ends up sharing nearly all my pre-law classes...” She shrugged in a ‘ _what can you do_ _’_ gesture, and the fire in Clarke’s stomach began to be replaced by ice as she realized just how far Cage had managed to worm his way into her date’s life, “He can come off as abrasive sometimes, but he’s a decent enough guy, I think. Though I admit I’ve never seen him behave quite like this before…”

“I…” Clarke clenched her jaw, and sighed in defeat as it became clear that Lexa had grown largely accustomed to the man’s unsavory personality, and she would likely have to save this battle for a later time. “I’m sorry.” She admitted, keeping her exasperation to a minimum as she forced the words out, “I guess I shouldn’t have overreacted….”

“Hey, no...” Lexa whispered, dipping her head to try and meet Clarke’s cast-away gaze. “Look at me.” Lexa urged, tugging gently as Clarke’s hand and rubbing a thumb across her knuckles, “You didn’t overreact, okay?” She smiled when blue finally met green, “I’ll tell him I’m not interested. Though I doubt he really thinks that way…” She reassured, and a part of Clarke wondered if that would make much of a difference, “It’s okay if you don’t like him, not many people do.”

“You do.” Clarke offered, though her body had begin to unwind now with the reassurance that Lexa was taking her seriously.

“Well, I had to come to tolerate him at the very least, considering the fact that we can’t seem to get away from one another.” Lexa shrugged noncommittally, “ And I suppose it’s nice having someone sharing my pre-law classes.” She settled, and Clarke’s shoulders relaxed at the realization that Lexa hadn’t once called Cage a ‘friend’, though her heart did sting a bit at having been called a friend herself. “Have I mentioned yet how _ravishing_ you look?” Lexa admitted in the softest of whispers, meeting her eyes as if the words were a scandalous secret that needed to be keep safe from prying ears.

Clarke couldn’t help but chuckle lovingly at her date as she allowed the remaining tenseness in her body to dissipate, very much appreciating Lexa’s attempts to take her mind off of their unexpected interruption. And of course, listening to Lexa whisper sweet nothings to her in ways that sounded so utterly _Lexa_ , had quickly grown to be one of her favored means of distraction. “I don’t think you used that word before, no.” Clarke grinned, eagerly allowing Lexa to tug at her hand and draw her ever closer.

“Hmm…” Lexa hummed softly, moving to rest her hands unassumingly on Clarke’s waist as she regarded her with eyes brimming with emotion, “A grave error, then.”

Clarke laughed, the kind of laugh that left her feeling nothing but pure, intoxicating happiness, which was growing more and more familiar to her the harder she let herself fall into Lexa’s arms. Clarke moved her own hands around Lexa’s neck as she inched closer, enjoying the perfect molding of their bodies as she whispered back to her date with an equal air of secrecy, “Flattery will get you everywhere, Lex.” She grinned before closing the gap and enveloping the soft lips that had begun to feel like home.

Lexa sighed into the kiss, happy to allow Clarke entrance when her tongue probed in question, and cupping the blonde’s cheek in an attempt to pull her impossibly closer. They let themselves stay lost in the heat of their kiss for a few more invaluable seconds, feeling just as intoxicated by the other as they had during their first kiss. Until finally, Lexa took the impossible step to relinquish her claim on the blonde’s lips, and instead trailed her lips down the blonde’s jaw, lighting sparks along the way.

“I sure hope so…” Lexa whispered hotly in her ear, and Clarke gasped as she felt her body respond to the welcomed closeness with a pulsing heat of desire. She bit back a moan as she felt Lexa nibble at her ear softly, very much inclined to drag her back to her room, and finally take their usual make-out sessions to the next step. “But right now…” Lexa trailed, and Clarke shivered at the addictiveness of those soft, sexy whispers, hanging onto her date’s every word, “I’m just hoping to get to our reservation in time…”

And just like that, Clarke felt the nearly overwhelming heat that was Lexa vanish, leaving her cold and confused even as her body leaned forward to reclaim those warm lips once again. Clarke’s eyes fluttered open, a bit dazed, to see Lexa’s beautiful face grinning teasingly at her, looking quite satisfied to have entranced her date in a way that Clarke had done to her so many times before. And Clarke did feel as if in a trance, dazed by the overwhelming desire and emotions that coiled in her body, all directed at this one impossibly perfect woman before her. And it was a trance she was not at all keen to step out of…

Clarke grinned back widely at her date, her body still cooling down from the cruel tease as she wondered whether to slap playfully at Lexa’s arm in revenge, or just trap those plush lips back where they belonged in a heated kiss.

She settled for the second, feeling the deer she had pushed away now crying for her attention as she finally collided with the feelings she had been struggling to run from…

She was falling for Lexa Woods. _Hard_.

And in the heat of Lexa’s kiss and tiny sparks of what might be one day be love, she couldn’t bring herself to give a damn about the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The remaining contents of the tape will likely not see the time of day, partly because they’re not worth elaborating on, but mostly because I accidentally fucking DELETED the scene I wrote about it like a goddamn moron and can’t be fucked to write it again. I don’t even know how that happened, because (1) Scrivener keeps all my deleted scenes saved in case I change my mind, and (2) I hoard the fuck out of my writing and NEVER delete anything permanently even if it's worthless garbage. I think the chapter was relatively clear on what was happening near the end of that tape (post-partum panic attack/depression), so the extra scene may not have been needed, and the only harm done is that to my soul...
> 
> As always, comments are the lifeblood the keeps me writing. I love hearing your thoughts/theories, because it always helps me understand what I need to clarify… And it's _fun_!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, huh, I wonder what Cage’s deal is. 
> 
> Weird.


End file.
